


Here But For the Grace of Merlin

by Makoto_Sagara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, HP: EWE, Language, M/M, Sappy, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:31:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makoto_Sagara/pseuds/Makoto_Sagara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final battle left those with the Mark stained more than skin-deep, and the war has left its own mark on the others at the Battle of Hogwarts. However, when Harry's distancing from his friends leads to a nearly fatal accident, Draco has a chance to fulfill a lift-debt he owes to the Boy Who Lived, but he's only doing it because Narcissa is insisting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lauded Heroes Are For the Birds

Title: Here But For the Grace of Merlin  
Author: Makoto Sagara  
Series: Harry Potter  
Archive: afallenangel.net/makotosagara/, fanfiction.net/~makotosagara, mediaminer.org, Foreverfandom.net, makochanupdates.livejournal.com, hpfandom.net, adultfanfiction.net, thehexfiles.net; anywhere else, please ask first  
Category: angst, pre-slash, smut, romance  
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione  
Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM (whatever seriously fucked up things come to mind this time around)

Summary: The final battle left those with the Mark stained more than skin-deep, and the war has left its own mark on the others at the Battle of Hogwarts. However, when Harry's distancing from his friends leads to a nearly fatal accident, Draco has a chance to fulfill a lift-debt he owes to the Boy Who Lived, but he's only doing it because Narcissa is insisting.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. We make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Authors’ Notes: This idea seized me, and I tried desperately to make it go away, until it just wouldn’t. So, let’s see where the hell this goes. And it should be darker than most of my other stuff, so enjoy.

** Here but for the Grace of Merlin – Chapter 1 – Lauded Heroes Are for the Birds **

Two hundred sixty-five days, three hours and twenty minutes since the defeat of the Wizarding world’s most evil citizen… And that was still all that anyone ever talked about. That is unless, of course, they were speculating where their beloved Boy Who Lived had hidden himself after said defeat. The only contact that Harry James Potter had had with the public was when he strolled into the British Ministry of Magic two months after the ‘Great Defeat of You Know Who’ (as the papers called it) and requested a tutor so that he could sit his N.E.W.T.s by the end of what would have been a year after his graduation from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Minister Shacklebolt, a man of upstanding character and showing more sense than his three predecessors, approved Harry’s request immediately and said that he would owl all relevant information to him as soon as possible.

That was the last anyone actually _saw_ Harry. Occasionally, in Muggle London, a black-haired teen with glasses and green eyes could be seen jogging in a very shady part of town, but he never responded to anyone who cried out to him. Rumors began speculating, as they always did, that Mr. Potter died, left the country, changed his appearance permanently, or had been murdered for the elusive Elder Wand that was last seen at the Battle of Hogwarts. When they tried to contact his closest friends, Miss Hermione Granger, Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss Ginevra Weasley, they received the same message: Harry would turn up when he wanted to be found.

As such, he had yet to show himself.

But his house-elf was seen frequently. And owls delivered items to his house in London all the time. Every once in a while, owls would actually arrive for some of the Weasleys or Hermione, but no details were ever given as to what he was doing or what he was planning for the future.

One hundred days after the Battle of Hogwarts, an owl flew to Ottery St. Catchpole and went directly to the Weasley home, the Burrow, with a letter for Miss Weasley. It simply said: ‘Ginny, I’m sorry. I can’t foresee when things will ever be normal and I can’t look back. Find someone better who deserves you. Love, Harry’

After this somewhat heartless letter arrived, Ginny Weasley, along with her brothers Ron and George went to 12 Grimmauld Place looking for their friend. It was empty, aside from a large pot of Floo powder that sat on the mantle of the fireplace in the great kitchen. In fact, all of the furniture and belongings that were supposed to be in the Venerable and Ancient House of Black were gone as well. Understandably upset, the young Weasleys returned to their parents’ home and started planning to find their friend.

“He can’t have gone far,” Ginny said. “What’s he going to do for living quarters?”

“Well, it’s obvious that he’s not living at Grimmauld Place, not that I blame the bloke,” George replied, running a hand through his newly shortened red hair. “If it weren’t for the fact that I now have to do the work for two...” His voice broke and he began sobbing. It had only been three months ago that he buried his twin brother, his other half. “I’d join him. But, as it is, I can send him business papers about his investment in the shop through the bank. The goblins told me, reluctantly, mind you, that he still contacts them from time to time about his accounts and such.”

“This is shit!” Ron bellowed as he shoved his chair from the table and letting it topple to the floor. “I don’t understand why he’d just disappear like this! We spent a year together, trying to find a way to kill that bastard and now that he’s gone, Harry’s just left? It doesn’t make sense! And I don’t care what Hermione says about him needing space. This is ridiculous! How’s he gonna heal by himself? Tell me that!”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Their mother, Molly Prewett-Weasley, appeared in the door of the kitchen, a deep scowl on her normally warm, but plain, face. “Watch your language, young man!”

“But, Mum, we were-” Ron started, but she cut across him quickly.

“I know what you were doing, Ronald, but Hermione is right that Harry needs time on his own to heal. While I don’t like that he hasn’t come here since then, especially with Christmas coming so soon, we can’t force him to do anything.”

“I never thought that he was a coward though,” Ginny whispered harshly. “To send me a letter like that…”

“Gin, he…” George started before shrugging in defeat. “I don’t know why he did. Did you reply?”

“Of course I did! And he never wrote back! It’s like Ron said, ridiculous. This is totally unlike Harry.”

“How’s a bloke supposed to act when he literally had to _die_ to save the rest of the world?” George asked. “I don’t know if I’d be the same after that either.” Ginny’s face crumpled and she ran from the room, the sound of her sobs making her brothers uncomfortable. “Mum, I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn’t, Georgie. It’s going to take some time for her,” Molly said sadly. “She’s been in love with Harry since before she started school.”

“Mum, do you think he’ll ever come back?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know, Ron. I just don’t know.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry, of course, had taken everything from the Black house in London and moved it to a smaller, more manageable house near Godric’s Hollow in Wales, even Kreacher. Since their change of venue, Harry had made an effort to get his studies in order so that he could pass his N.E.W.T.s, but he and his tutor conversed via Floo and owl post. He had replaced his beloved Hedwig with a regular brown owl a week after the day he died (that was how he recalled it), realizing quickly that he’d never be able to look at another snowy owl without wanting to cry or rage or find Voldemort’s corpse and tear it into tiny bits and pieces. He made sure that his owl was male, and called him Prometheus.

In fact, aside from his tutor, the only company that he saw on a day-to-day basis was Kreacher and Prometheus. And still, the dead weighed in on him. Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Snape, Dumbledore, Moody, Hedwig, Dobby, Vincent Crabbe… These were the faces that showed up when he slept, read, ate, moved, and breathed. He’d been unable to deal with it after the battle. Even the offer of Arthur and Molly Weasley to come and stay at the Burrow for a while made his skin crawl. It reminded him too much of Fred and the relationship that Ginny wanted to rekindle. It became too much. After two days, he fled to Grimmauld, and two days after that, he’d found a new house in Godric’s Hollow.

But nothing would make the faces go away. And so, he began to drink. Heavily. Regularly. He’d get so drunk that he’d pass out on his living room couch and Kreacher would have to Apparate him into his bed. If it wasn’t for the little elf, he would have forgotten to eat, bathe, or even dress. Eventually, not even Kreacher’s nagging and poking and prodding could make Harry leave his bed. And he stayed there, for days on end, only getting up to find a new bottle of Firewhisky or vodka or tequila, right where he knew they would be, right where he’d told the house-elf to leave them when he purchased them.

He didn’t know how long it continued. The days all ran into one another. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked to his tutor or received an owl from his so-called friends. He just didn’t care anymore. All he wanted to do was to stop thinking, stop caring, stop… living… And so, when he passed out and hit his head on the porcelain of the claw foot tub, he just didn’t fight the blackness. He embraced it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was late February, and for the last eight and a half months, Draco Malfoy had spent his time stuck at Malfoy Manor with his parents. Partially, they were hiding to avoid enemies and public scrutiny. The papers had been rather vicious to their tiny family, in regards to the fact that they were all supposed Death Eaters – even if no one counted the fact that Lucius wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind and hadn’t been since his premature release from Azkaban, or that his mother, normally so cool and collected, cried and hugged her only child rather frequently, or that Draco himself almost never showed any emotions – not even anger – when he _was_ forced to go outside anymore. However, the other reason they hadn’t left _was_ to hide Lucius’ deteriorating mental capacity.

Just the thought of his once proud and imposing father simpering and then screaming at the feet of that _creature_ that called itself the Dark Lord made his skin crawl. Yes, Malfoys were cruel and vicious, but there was always a point behind it. Voldemort had been insane, and did whatever he wanted because he wanted it. Including, killing Severus in cold blood, his mind reminded him wearily. Although, thoughts of his godfather made him rather torn. To think that someone who had been such a crucial part of his life had actually been Dumbledore’s man, and then killed that man to protect himself, made his heart hurt.

He missed Severus. It had been a cold summer, fall, and winter without the man’s snappy wit and snarky remarks.

Part of him wanted to blame Potter, but, truthfully, he understood that it was Voldemort’s own stupid ambition and madness that had stolen Draco’s last beacon of hope.

Although, blaming Potter made him feel better. And reading about how the Boy Who Wouldn’t Die had abandoned his surrogate family of blood traitors and their token Mudblood sent a shiver of glee down his spine. Except, it didn’t make up for anything that _he,_ Draco, had lost. And part of him wanted the whole world to pay for his fucked up life.

He’d already contacted the Ministry about possibly finishing his education so that he could continue on the path of actually getting his life together, with or without his parents, but Shacklebolt plainly told him that unless someone of “good standing” spoke up for him, he would be denied. And he knew that the only person that that pathetic boot licker would respect and trust enough to give him what he wanted was Potter.

Yet another reason for his hatred of the bloody Boy Who Lived.

“Draco, darling, where are you?” his mother called, effectively dragging him away from his unproductive, self-pitying thoughts.

“In the library, Mother,” he called, getting up from the window-seat he’d been at for the last hour while lost in thought. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong, per se, my dear,” Narcissa said, enveloping her only child in a flower-scented embrace. “I thought it would be nice if you, Father and I had lunch in the sun room.”

“Wouldn’t it be a little chilly for that, Mother? It is February, after all.” He frowned. Lucius was supposed to be the one suffering ill effects of the war, not Narcissa.

“Oh, I know, Draco,” she replied airily. “However, it is bright and sunny and I’m sure that keeping the actual room warm wouldn’t be that difficult.”

“As you wish, Mother,” he said, looking around. “Have you seen today’s _Prophet_?”

“Yes, I believe that Father left it on the breakfast table this morning. Shall I have one of the elves fetch it for you?”

“No, I’ll get it myself, Mother.” He placed a soft kiss to her cheek, part of him worried about how doting she’d become since the Battle of Hogwarts. Slowly, he walked through Malfoy Manor, staying away from the parlor where he’d lied about the captives Greyback had brought being Potter and his pathetic friends. He sighed. _‘Not so pathetic, are they, considering they defeated the Dark Lord and helped clean up the mess at Hogwarts after his death? And what about yourself? What have you done since then, Lord Malfoy?’_ That thought left a foul taste in his mouth and he sneered.

And in the breakfast room, on the cozy table, near his father’s spot, sat the day’s copy of the _Daily Prophet._ He stopped and blinked as he took in the headline: _Boy Who Lived Found Unconscious_. Quickly, he scanned the article for news of his boyhood rival. It was the first time in months that anyone had seen Potter, but all the paper, for all its sensationalism, could tell him was that Potter had been found unconscious in the bathroom of one of the smaller Black houses, one that looked as if he’d been living there since his disappearance, with a head wound and in a pool of his own blood. The article tried to argue that it was an attempt by former Death Eaters that were still on the run to take out their saviour, but there was no tangible proof of that. Even odder, there was no mention of Potter’s Weasel or Mudblood friend being with him.

_‘Trouble in paradise then,’_ he thought viciously, until he took a look at the picture of the Gryffindor hero being rushed into St. Mungo’s, blood everywhere and breathing shallowly. _‘Something is majorly wrong then… I’m just curious enough to ask around.’_

TBC


	2. The Attack

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Author’s Notes: Ugh, I give up on not starting new stuff. Maybe, one day, eventually, I’ll finish all my WIPs, but it’ll take some time. Just send a flame (or review) over on the muses’ way. They like that stuff, yanno?

** Chapter Two – The Attack **

Time stood still for Lucius Malfoy after the Dark Lord’s defeat at the Battle of Hogwarts. He remembered huddling with his wife and son in the Great Hall, and their eventual release back to the Manor, with an entourage of Aurors until their trials began. No sooner had they reached the gates to their property than the flock of white peacocks took up screams that sent nails into every nerve ending in Lucius’ body. He began twitching all over, adding his own unearthly yell to the cacophony around the grounds.

Vaguely, from far off, he could hear Narcissa’s cries of worry, Draco’s shout of horror, and still he screamed. His blood felt like it was boiling in his veins, his brains melting from his ears. The pain was so great, so extreme that he fell to his knees, losing his voice to hoarse mewls of agony. And then, blessedly, the world grew dark.

When he awoke again, the private Healer his family had retained for years was at his side. Narcissa seemed to be curled against his side, and his beautiful son was drawn up in a chair in the corner of the room. But, he couldn’t remember how he got there.

“Oh, Lucius, you’re awake finally,” Healer Jacobi said with a faint smile. “We’d begun to worry that you’d taken a permanent vacation.”

“How-” he croaked, his once regal voice now sounding as if he’d gargled with gravel.

“How long, I suppose you want to know… You’ve been asleep,” he frowned at the word momentarily, “for almost two weeks. The Ministry had to postpone your trial - and that of Draco and Narcissa as well - because of your condition.” The Healer then began to check his vitals, wand moving in complicated swishes and flicks that made the blond’s head hurt. “Harry Potter was more than willing to speak on your behalf, but Minister Shacklebolt was quite adamant that you be well enough to face whatever was dealt to you. Said it was the least the Ministry could do.

“Of course, Bellatrix was killed by Molly Prewett-Weasley. Thicknese met his end from Percy Weasley, of all people. Nott, Goyle, Goyle’s son, Crabbe, Jugson, Yaxley, Selwyn, Rowle are all in custody. Alecto and Amycus Carrow were found dismembered by Greyback, who disappeared. And the rest are in the wind, running from the Aurors. Oh, and the Parkinsons have been told, discreetly mind you, that they’d be better off leaving Britain after little Pansy’s actions towards Potter.”

Lucius scrunched up his brow in thought, his mind racing as he tried to digest what the man was saying. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, I thought you’d like to know what’s happening. It’s a shame about the Parkinsons though… Pansy wasn’t such a bad looking girl. My Justin would have been a nice match for her, if they hadn’t had to leave like that.”

“Jacobi, I appreciate your news, but my head feels as if an army of house-elves are banging around in it,” Lucius drawled, trying his level best to retain the Malfoy coolness, and only failing a little. “Why did I collapse?”

“Lucius,” Narcissa whispered happily. “You’re awake.” He turned his head and found his wife’s beautiful blue eyes watering with tears. “We were so worried when you… but look at you.”

“Cissa, love, please, contain yourself,” he replied, sneaking a hand in her own and squeezing it to let her know that her worry was appreciated. “Jacobi?”

“Well, Lucius, the best I can gather is that after You Know Who’s defeat, the older followers got a healthy dose of magical backlash. You’re not the only one suffering from this. You were just the first to fall, sadly.”

“Draco?” Lucius whispered, trying hard not to let his fear creep into his voice. If anything happened to his son, it would be his fault.

“Oh, the boy is fine; just sleeping right now. I checked him over, and aside from the fact that he’s having trouble reining in his very impressive temper, he’s fine.”

The blond looked into his wife’s face and frowned. She shook her head minutely, letting him know that she’d also noticed the change in their child, but there was nothing she could do. “If only Severus were still alive, he’d be able to brew something so he could control his anger…”

“I think it’ll be healthy for the boy to get some of this off his chest for a while,” the Healer said cheerfully. “From what I understand, he’s had a pretty stressful couple of years with very little outlet. If it continues beyond reason, say a few months, call me back and we’ll take it from there.

“However, my main concern is you, Lucius.” He looked at the golden watch on his wrist and then ran a hand through his short, limp brown hair. “The readouts I just got are telling me that your mind was more affected than I like. I have a potion that will keep your body, which will ache terribly for a few days, in perfect working order, but for the next few days, I’ll have to drop by to check you over. Once I know what’s going on, we can discuss options.”

“What do you suspect is wrong, Healer Jacobi?” Narcissa asked quietly.

“It’s hard to say, Mrs. Malfoy. I won’t really be able to tell until I examine him after he’s been awake and moving for a while. The sudden shock to his system seems to…” The look on the man’s face told them that he really didn’t know how to phrase what he wanted to say. “For all intents and purpose, when Potter defeated You Know Who, Dark magic was lashing all around. Of course, since like is attracted to like, Potter and the Death Eaters were affected the most, but nearly everyone present at the Battle of Hogwarts has shown up at St. Mungo’s, or to their private Healers if they’re lucky, with alterations in mood or migraines. Things of that nature are very prevalent right now. But, I’d imagine with Potter, and some of the more exposed Death Eaters, the backlash would be greater. Only time will tell, of course, how much they were affected.

“The thing that worries me is that Lucius is missing some of his memory faculties.” The Healer fixed the prone man with murky brown eyes. “How often did the Dark Lord perform Legilimency on you in the last year, Lucius?”

“I… I believe quite a few times,” Lord Malfoy responded, narrowing his eyes at his uncertainty. “It’s difficult for me to…” His grey eyes opened widely in dismay.

“That’s what I was afraid of… Well, I’ll return tomorrow and we’ll see what we can do from there.” He held out a hand when Narcissa rose from the bed. “No need, Mrs. Malfoy, I am quite capable of showing myself out.” He cut his eyes back to his patient. “Rest, Lucius, you must rest. That means no getting up and walking around the Manor or yelling at the elves. Rest, eat regular meals, and I’ll see you in the morning.” He fished a sea-green potion out of his leather satchel and handed it to Narcissa. “Make sure he takes half of this with dinner and the other half with his breakfast.” She nodded solemnly, and the man was gone.

“Oh, Lucius, what are we going to do?” Narcissa whispered desperately.

“First, my love, we aren’t going to panic,” Lucius answered calmly. “Next, you are going to tell me how drastic these changes in Draco’s behaviour have been.”

“Not terribly noticeable, unless he sees either Potter or any Weasley mentioned in the _Prophet_. Other than that, he is just quiet and withdrawn, much like he was during the last year while…”

“Yes, I understand. Now, what has happened with our circle since then? Jacobi told me some of it, but I doubt he thinks outside of the Death Eaters.”

“The Zabinis made it through fine, although young Blaise has decided to go to Beauxbatons to finish his education. The Parkinsons have been run out because of Pansy’s rash actions during the last day there – Margarite told me that they were going to go to a nice, quiet Wizarding community in Italy. The Greengrasses have been nice enough to inform me that our son should consider any marriage contract with either of their daughters as null and void. I hadn’t the heart to tell them that Draco would rather marry a Mudblood than either of their ill-bred spawn.” Lucius chuckled at his wife’s venomous tongue.

“The Notts, aside from Celestine, are in Auror custody. Crabbe is there as well. Poor Vincent is dead, sadly. Goyle and Gregory are also in custody. I haven’t heard from Rabastan or Rodolphus since that day, but it’s hardly surprising with Bella gone. Severus, sadly, is gone, but I’ve heard since then that he actually helped Potter…”

“As did you, Narcissa, when you lied to _Him_ ,” Lucius reprimanded sharply.

“I am aware of that, Lucius,” she snapped before continuing on with her recitation. “The Bulstrodes have been extremely quiet. I believe they’d like to keep some of their reputation intact, and would rather not the public found out about their financial backing of the Dark Lord. The Boots have mysteriously disappeared as well – so have the MacDougals and Davises.”

“So, any pure-blood family with any taint on their reputation has either been imprisoned, exiled, or has gone into hiding?”

“Except for us,” Narcissa confirmed.

Sadly, that was only the beginning of the bad news for the Malfoy family.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As the days progressed, Lucius’ condition was expounded upon in great detail. Not only had he taken a great deal of the magical backlash from Voldemort’s death, but whole parts of his memory banks had been raped, torn into irreparable shreds. From what Healer Jacobi could find, this condition would only get worse, until Lucius retained nothing of his former self.

Draco and Narcissa took this news stoically, neither blinking nor making noise. When the Healer suggested getting a second opinion from a Mind-Healer, Narcissa merely nodded and said whomever he recommended would be more than welcome. Lucius, on the other hand, sat in a catatonic-like state for a few hours, but his family understood that he was thinking. Sure enough, when it was over, he had a plan ready.

“Narcissa, contact Mr. Brown-Markum,” he said, his voice having recovered rather quickly after the first day of being awake. “And bring me the parchments in the top drawer of my desk.” He turned to Draco, who stood as still as death, his face pale and rigid. “My son, I know that this news is startling, but there are certain things that must be done to maintain our family. I do not know how much longer I will be myself, but the sooner that I do this, the safer we will all be.”

“What are you planning, Father?” Draco asked, his voice steady and sure, bringing a swelling sense of pride in his father.

“You will have to become legal and magical head of the family. I am no longer fit to do so.” Lucius grimaced. “If this was two hundred years ago, I would be taken out and mercy-killed. However, that is neither here nor there. What I require from you is an oath that you take care of your mother and continue the line, if possible.”

“Do you really think the Wizengamot is going to let us go then?”

“I think that your mother will more than likely be freed because of her assistance to Potter during the final battle, if nothing else. You, well, you were under duress and if you play your cards correctly, you should fare well.”

“And yourself?” Draco snapped, his face resembling that of a wild animal momentarily.

 _‘This must be what Jacobi was talking about. I do hope that he can contain himself to stay out of Azkaban for the rest of his life,_ ’ Lucius thought with a heavy sigh. “My son, Draco, what happens to me now is unimportant.” He held up his hand as he saw Draco begin to fight that statement. “Rash decisions that I made as a young man have come back to haunt this family in the last three years. Therefore, I must suffer the consequences. If that is a lifetime in that hell, then so be it. Soon enough, I will retain little of my mind to even care about where I am. However, I wish for our family to stay safe, and regain some footing, if possible.

“Your priority should be to the family, your mother, yourself and producing an heir, with a spare this time.”

“Are you really giving me the old ‘heir and spare’ line at a time like this?” Draco sneered. “Then I suppose now is the perfect time to tell you that I’m-”

“Draco!” Narcissa’s voice cut across him, and when he looked at his mother’s face, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. “Lucius, I have contacted Brown-Markum. He should be here momentarily. And I have retrieved your papers.” She handed him a sheaf of parchment and then sat down in the chair next to him. “Do you really think that now is the time to do this? There are still the trials…”

“Cissa, love, I would like to get this taken care of while I still have as much of my mental faculties as I will have. From what Jacobi and his colleague have explained to me, this will be a degenerative problem. No matter what the Wizengamot declares as my sentence, I must ensure that we are not left in the wind. Besides, doing this will stop them from trying to seize our money and property as well.”

“As you wish,” she said sadly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A week after Lucius regained consciousness found Draco Lord Malfoy and the family before the Wizengamot to find out their fate. The day before, they were alerted that they’d be tried together, since Harry Potter was going to be a witness for the entire family, and apparently, his time was too precious to squander. Yet another reason for Draco to detest the half-blood prat, he supposed. So, it was with much anxiety that the three Malfoys were escorted with a full raid group of five Aurors into the Ministry building and down to the sunken courtroom.

Taking a look around at the hostile witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, Draco schooled his features to look earnest and curious – both of which he really was. However, no manner of charm and innocence would win over this crowd, he knew, and resented the fact that after they were done scowling on him, they turned to the _Chosen One_ with looks of total adoration.

Potter, for his part, appeared to be tired, pale, and irritated. _‘Well, that makes two of us then,’_ Draco thought viciously before intensely piercing green eyes focused solely on him. _‘What the hell is Potter thinking looking at me like that in front of the entirety of the Wizarding world? If he’s not careful, tomorrow’s_ Prophet _will have the story that we’re star-crossed lovers or some such nonsense.’_

And just as suddenly as those eyes fell on him, they departed. But, before Draco could take a breath, another set fell upon him - blue eyes that belonged to one Ronald Weasley. Anger bubbled closely to the surface of his calm mask, making it difficult to breathe, until one of his mother’s small, cool hands clamped down on his shoulder and gently tugged him to face her.

“Dearest, you really will do yourself more harm than good if you continue to glare at Mr. Potter like that,” she whispered harshly. “My suggestion is to hang your head a little and stay as perfectly quiet as you can manage.” She smiled briefly before placing a kiss to his heated cheek. “Remember what the solicitor said – only answer questions that have been asked you directly, but make sure that the answers are honest and without anger. Out of us all, you have the biggest chance of getting out of here to see sunlight.”

“Yes, Mother,” he replied calmly, forcing himself into the icy state that he’d lived the last three years in. Before long, the trial began, and what was actually said seemed to have flowed out of Draco’s mind, but he remembered the events very clearly.

Interim Minister Shacklebolt started the proceedings, forcing Draco and his parents to state their names for the record. However, after that, the members of the Wizengamot shot off questions nilly-willy to whichever Malfoy struck their fancy. An eternity later, Potter was called forward. The Boy Who Lived shook off the hands of his best friends, his green eyes blazing with tightly held anger, and as he walked down to stand in the middle of the courtroom, green met grey. Draco forgot what it was like to take air into his lungs for a minute, and he instantly hated everything that Potter stood for, since he was well aware of what had just happened.

Potter made his impassioned plea, stating how he’d been on the tower the night that Albus Dumbledore died, had witnessed the offering of sanctuary that was given to Draco – the one he almost took, until Greyback and the Carrows joined them and left Snape to finish his task. He explained how he’d been privy to many of the Dark Lord’s actions regarding the Malfoys through his visions, such as the night Professor Babbage was murdered and devoured by the madman’s snake. He also tried to enlighten the plebeians that held Draco’s life in their hands about the night that Potter and his friends had been captured and brought to the manor – the night when Draco had lied to his mad Aunt Bellatrix about the identity of Harry Potter, regardless of the fact that the prat had then left with Draco’s wand.

Then, Potter began speaking about how Narcissa Malfoy had only done what she could to ensure the safety of her only child. When one woman asked if he was comparing Mrs. Malfoy’s actions to that of his own mother, The Golden Boy smirked and said that if their roles had been reversed, he was sure that Lily Evans-Potter would have done something quite similar. That statement alone seemed to shut up the Wizengamot for a few long, hard moments.

However, when Shacklebolt asked Potter about Lucius Malfoy, all the black-haired teen could do was shake his head. He then looked at the older man and shrugged. These were the words that stood out clearly in Draco’s mind months after the proceedings, “Never once in the last seven years that I have been a full member of the Wizarding community has a kind word been passed between Lucius Malfoy and me. However, I know what kind of man he is – proud, regal, domineering, and weak. And in a moment of utterly stupid teenage weakness, he sold his soul to the one person who probably could rival the Devil himself in his lack of mercy. After the first pause in the war with Voldemort,” he sneered as the entire gallery shuddered and a few people cried out in fear, “he found a place in the world again, hoping to erase all the ill he’d caused. But Voldemort was a cruel master and never had any intention of letting his servant, and piggy bank, go.

“Things got worse for Lucius after Voldemort’s return three years ago. And of course, as he was a family man now, he had to make sure his _darling_ son and wife were safe. I can’t fault him for that. It is a shame that he’s such a stuck-up arse though. But,” Potter shrugged, “I’m not here to judge him. He did what he had to, just like Narcissa and Draco, just like me. It was a bloody stupid thing to do, but we’re not all perfect, I’ve been told. Besides, Lucius Malfoy had his wand stolen by Voldemort and has been without a reasonable replacement since my seventeenth birthday.”

It was shortly after that moving speech, which made Draco both admire and detest his former rival that the call for other witnesses came. Healer Jacobi stepped forward and explained Lucius’ condition as precisely as possible, letting the Wizengamot know, in no uncertain terms, that the Malfoy patriarch would never recover – that, in fact, he would begin to deteriorate – had begun already.

It took all but thirty minutes for the court to declare Draco cleared of all charges – as he had obviously been under great amounts of strain, and as a teenager was unable to cope with them properly. The fact that he hadn’t actually killed anyone worked in his favor, as well as having the testimony and memories of Harry James Potter on his side. His mother was cleared as well, more for her actions in saving Potter’s life and the fact that she hadn’t taken the Dark Mark than anyone believing she was actually innocent of any wrong doing.

Lucius was another story entirely. After the positive verdicts for Draco and Narcissa, Potter and his entourage left the courtroom quietly, and the words of the various members of the Wizengamot left the younger Malfoy numb to everything else. His father was found utterly and completely guilty of every charge – countless murders, rapes, thefts, destruction of property, menacing, assault, and others just kept being named – but in light of the Healer’s testimony, he was ordered on indefinite house arrest and he was assigned a second Healer, who would check in with him once a month and report to a committee. If at any point it seemed like Lucius would recover, then his sentence would be reconsidered.

All in all, things went the way that the Malfoys had hoped, but that was the last good day any of them had. They were shunned in public. People refused their money. Narcissa was forced to go to France and Germany to do their shopping, or to do it by mail order – but only with businesses based on the continent. They kept no company in their vast manor home. Howlers arrived for weeks after the trials from people upset with their ability to ‘buy their way out’, as it was so succinctly put by more than one person.

That thought made Draco laugh until his chest hurt and tears ran down his face. The one time they _hadn’t_ bought their way out of the situation, and they were being accused. The mental processes of the public left him bewildered and amused.

And it was only with the arrival of the Howlers and the _Daily Prophet_ that Draco noticed the passing of time. August moved into September. Before he could blink, it was December and Christmas. And then, it was February. But that month, he had no trouble recalling.

TBC


	3. Unwelcome Visitors

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: This fic has really started to get stuck in my head. I feel like I might actually be a real HP fanfic writer. Shocking, I’m aware, but the muses are happy and I don’t die. That’s how it should be. Review if you have the time. It keeps the muses working.

 

** Chapter Three – Unwelcome Visitors **

****

The house was quiet, even the house-elves gone to bed. Draco stared up at the canopy of his king-sized bed and sighed. Sleep had been avoiding him for hours yet, his mind turning over the news of Potter’s ‘accident’ and the obvious rupture of the Golden Trio of Hogwarts. As much as he had wished for their friendship to have completely disintegrated during their time at school, now that it had after the war was not that satisfying. _‘Probably because I can’t see their miserable faces as they suffer,’_ he thought, but he knew that wasn’t what was bothering him exactly and he couldn’t place his finger on what really was. Deciding to take a Dreamless Sleep potion, he got out of his bed and walked to his en-suite.

 

Just as his bare feet hit the plush carpeting, he heard what sounded like a crash come from somewhere on the first floor of the Manor. Cursing under his breath, Draco snatched up his wand – the one that Potter had so graciously returned through Minister Shacklebolt after his horrid trial – and silently padded through the darkened halls to find who the intruder was.

 

It was only when he heard frighteningly familiar voices that he remembered the utter folly of what had happened since Voldemort’s defeat. While the Ministry had instantly re-warded the Manor against all but the Auror corps and Malfoy family, the dungeons had separate wards. And Lucius had never reset them, or showed Draco how to do so himself! He swore that if he lived after this evening, he was going to re-ward the whole damn property around the Manor against everyone but his parents and himself. Fuck the Aurors and the Minister…

 

“Sod all, Travers, could you be any more useless?” That sounded oddly like his… Uncle Rodolphus.

 

“Roddy, might want to keep it down, yes? I’m sure Lucius and Cissa are sleeping like babes, but who knows what ickle Drakie is doing,” his brother, Rabastan, sneered. Draco’s blood froze in his veins. Out of all the loose Death Eaters roaming the countryside, the Lestrange brothers, Travers - and probably MacNair and Avery too - was the worst possible situation – aside from Voldemort himself, his brain added sarcastically.

 

Draco was well aware that he was truly, utterly and royally fucked, unless his parents woke up. He could take out Travers, MacNair and Avery by himself, but his uncles… Only his father, in his prime, could deal with those two. Although, if what the Healer said about the Death Eaters being adversely affected by the Dark magic backlash at the final battle was correct, none of the men downstairs were at their absolute best. That thought was the one ray of sunshine in the whole dark, fucking pit he found himself suddenly in.

 

“Rabastan, I feel rather out of sorts,” Rodolphus said, his voice sounding a little too airy for Draco’s tastes.

 

“That’s wonderful, Roddy, but what would Bella do at a time like this?”

 

“Why, she’s go after her traitor sister and her horridly pathetic husband first, and then cast the _Cruciatus_ on darling Draco until he went insane.”

 

“That wasn’t the plan, Lestrange!” Ah, yes, Avery was there.

 

“We’re only after some of Lucius’ money to get the hell out of Britain,” MacNair snarled. They were too predictable, running around in the same packs, but it was something that the older men never caught onto when Draco tried to explain it to them in his seventh year at Hogwarts. “Although, from the news I heard, Draco holds the purse strings now.”

 

“MacNair, Travers and Avery, go find the beautiful Narcissa and her worthless husband,” Rabastan barked. “Rodolphus and I will find young _Lord_ Malfoy.” Draco held back on swearing, but promising himself that if he and his parents made it out of this situation, then he’d brew enough Felix Felicis to last several generations of Malfoys.

 

The two Lestrange brothers’ footsteps made for the direction of Draco’s room, where the blond returned and quietly shut the door behind him, casting Locking and Silencing charms quickly. There, safe, for the moment, Draco let loose a string of swearing that would have scandalized his mother. Frantically, he looked around for anything that he could use as a weapon, aside from his tightly clutched wand. Then, he remembered those stupidly intrusive wards that Shacklebolt had demanded he add to the Manor’s already impressive defenses. They were supposed to alert the Ministry and Auror corps if tripped.

 

Praying for once that the Ministry could be trusted, Draco shot a Blasting Curse at one of the windows of his room, watching in morbid fascination as the magic was swallowed by the Manor’s wards and shrinking as a wail that reminded him of a cat that had its tail stepped on rang throughout the Manor. Then, gathering what courage he could muster, he removed the Locking and Silencing charms from his door and waited.

 

“Dammit,” Rodolphus yelled. “Those idiots must have tripped something. Rabastan, we need to hurry!”

 

“I don’t think so, Uncle,” Draco said calmly before shooting off a stream of Stunners and Binding Spells, watching as they ineffectually bounced off of the shields his uncles had put up. He didn’t stop casting, hoping that somehow a spell would get passed them in their panic.

 

Of course, they weren’t sitting back and letting him do that. Oh, no, they were shooting _Cruciatuses_ and Stunners and a very sick looking yellow-brown smoke which smelled heavily of garlic that Draco had never seen used before, only read about in some of his father’s more questionable tomes – the ones the Ministry had gladly confiscated before allowing them to return to the Manor. Not trusting himself enough to shield against that particular curse, Draco threw himself to the floor and then cast a nonverbal _Ventus_ spell.

 

The smoke cloud was blown back in the Lestrange brothers’ faces, and they began coughing harshly. Their spell casting was obviously affected as the coughing literally had them on hands and knees. Rodolphus’ face was turning a very interesting shade of puce, while Rabastan looked as if he was about to turn in to one of the Merfolk that lived at the bottom of the lake at Hogwarts.

 

As Draco watched his uncles’ difficulty breathing, he silently vowed that he was going to really research that curse. If the looks on their faces said anything to him, it was definitely a good thing that he managed to avoid breathing it in. Also, he made a mental note to have the house-elves to do an _extremely_ thorough cleaning of his wing. There was no way he was going to let something that potentially dangerous leave any traces that might damage him.

 

While Rodolphus and Rabastan continued to cough and change colors, Draco quickly cast two rapid _Incarcerous_ spells and Apparated to his parents’ wing of the house. What he found when he arrived was chaos.

 

Lucius, who still remembered everything from the time he joined Voldemort’s services the first time to the present time, was casting rapid fire curses and hexes that were taking chunks out of the walls and leaving black stains that made Draco wonder abstractedly if they’d ever come out. Narcissa, who looked like some goddess of vengeance, was locked in a one-on-one battle with MacNair. The bulky man was in filthy, dark robes that had slices from various curses and probably from the shards of glass from the shattered window behind his mother.

 

Travers was the closest, and his wand work was sloppy, taking too much time between spellcasting and saying some incantations incorrectly. How he’d ever made any sort of impact as a Death Eater was beyond Draco, but that didn’t make the man any less dangerous. Luckily, he was too preoccupied in trying to cast a Severing Curse at Lucius to notice that he had company. Draco held out two fingers to his father before shooting a Full Body-Bind at the distracted man.

 

Lucius took the assistance with a snarl, casting a minor Cutting curse at Avery, knocking the man’s wand from his hand and slicing the fingers that had been wrapped around it. He dropped to his knees. “Please, Lucius, we were once old friends,” he begged pathetically. “I didn’t even want to come here. Lestrange and his brother made me. Please.” The elder Malfoy curled his upper lip in disgust before casting a Stunner at his former comrade. Draco helped by binding him as well, turning to see his mother cast a sleep spell that MacNair failed to completely block.

 

The hairy, burly man fell face forward onto the carpet at Narcissa’s feet, and she spared a look of utter revulsion before binding him as well. “Where are the Lestranges?” she asked in an emotionless voice as she stepped around MacNair to check her husband over for any marks.

 

“Somewhere in my wing of the house, bound and dealing with some curse they tried to cast at me,” Draco answered, relief making his heart rate return to something like normal. Aside from a few cuts and abrasions, both of his parents seemed to be fine.

 

“What curse?” Lucius inquired, pushing Narcissa’s fussing hands away from a bleeding gash on his arm without thought.

 

“I don’t know its name,” Draco said. “But it was a horrid yellowish-brown colored gas that reminded me of garlic.”

 

“That curse!” The elder Malfoy was then trying to race through the doorway like a demon from hell.

 

Draco blinked in confusion and turned to his mother. “Do you know what curse it is, Mother?”

 

“If I remember correctly,” Narcissa said in a cool tone that said she remembered just fine, “that curse is based off of a rather vicious Muggle weapon of war. I believe it is called Mustard Gas…” Her blue eyes shone like hard gems briefly. “Did you breathe it in or let it touch your skin?”

 

“No, I didn’t remember what it was, and wasn’t going to take any chances. I blew it back in their faces, and while they were coughing up their lungs, I incapacitated them before Apparating here.”

 

“Good.” She gave a hard smile. “The Healers at St. Mungo’s shall have fun dealing with the boils and such that comes from that particular curse. Your uncles will be lucky if they only have to deal with minor injuries to their lungs and esophagus.” Her face grew stony once again. “And did you set off the wards that alert the useless Ministry to our situation?”

 

“Yes, Mother, I thought it was prudent to alert them as soon as possible.”

 

A soft ‘pop’ beside them made them turn to face the house elf that appeared at that moment. “Excuse me, Mistress ‘Cissa, there is men at the door in red robes asking for you and Master Draco.”

 

“Good, Dibby, show them into the drawing room and Draco and I will be there shortly.”

 

“Yes, Mistress, Dibby will do that right away.”

 

“They will examine our wands, I’m sure. The Aurors are just waiting for us to use Dark Arts while Lucius is on house arrest so that they can imprison us all in Azkaban. What spells did you use, my son?”

 

“Silencing and Locking charms, the Clean Wind spell, a Blasting curse for the wards, the Full-Body Bind, and Stunners – nothing that would have any of us arrested.”

 

“Good,” she said with an approving nod. “It is only Lucius we will have to worry about then.” She shook her head before heading to her closet for a robe. “Go find Father, and I will meet you downstairs.”

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“And just where did Mr. Malfoy acquire this wand?” one of the Aurors, a Gillyroot, asked. “I remember Harry Potter saying that his was destroyed at the trial.”

 

“That wand belonged to my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy,” Draco answered coolly. “As the Wizengamot did not prevent him from having a wand, but only put him on indefinite house arrest because of his condition, I don’t think it a problem that he has it.”

 

“Look here, boy,” the other Auror, Beetstring, snapped. “You’d best watch your mouth around me.”

 

“As my parents and I have done your job, and you are in _my_ home, you will remember who you are talking to,” Draco shot back, feeling heat creep up his neck. The cold hand of his mother touched his arm, reeling him in and keeping him from hexing the incompetent arsehole in front of them. “Do not think that I will hesitant to speak to the Minister about your appalling lack of manners,” he said, managing to sound nonchalantly.

 

“Have you received any pertinent information from any of the five men that we caught for you?” Narcissa asked.

 

“Now, Mrs. Malfoy, there’s no reason to-” the first Auror began, but the look of pure contempt on Narcissa’s face seemed to freeze him to the bone.

 

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Aurors Gillyroot and Beetstring. My family and I were tried fairly by the Wizengamot back in June of last year. That means we are nearly eight months past being found innocent. And yet, you’ve come into our home, where we have called you for assistance with wanted criminals that you have not been able to apprehend yourselves, and insulted us from the first. We have done nothing wrong. We have been perfect examples of private citizens that have wished to remain so. So, please explain to me how you can walk through the door of where I live and insult me to my face?

 

“Every spell that we used this evening _in our own defense_ is a legal, non-Dark Arts spell. Even the Cutting charm that Lucius used against Avery was one that is normally used to trim hair, so your behaviour is completely unwarranted and unprofessional. As my son as said, we _will_ be speaking to your superiors about your atrocious performance.”

 

Both men had flushed an ugly shade of red by the time that Narcissa had finished, and Draco felt like beaming with pride at the way his mother had cowed these useless men, but a brief flash from the direction that Lucius had been sitting drew his immediate attention. His father was swaying, as if drunk, and cradling his left arm to his side. “Father, are you alright?”

 

“Draco, there is something wrong,” Lucius whispered before passing out.

 

TBC


	4. Silly Disagreements With...

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: Magical spell battles are… interesting to write. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I hope you like this as much as I do!

 

** Chapter Four – Silly Disagreements With… **

****

The next two hours seemed to pass by in a blur for Draco, and he couldn’t remember much about it either. One minute, Lucius was sitting in a chair in their drawing room while Draco and Narcissa admonished a team of Aurors for being both rude and incompetent. The next, his mother was nearly hysterical and Draco was Side-Along Apparating his father to St. Mungo’s while the Aurors just stood there looking like idiots.

 

The Healers appeared out of nowhere, whisking his father behind those ridiculous Muggle saloon doors they added to the Emergency Department the year before. Narcissa was instantly at Draco’s side, gripping his left hand tightly as one of the Healers came out and approached them. “Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said calmly, waiting for their terse nods before continuing. “Mr. Malfoy seems to have suffered significant spell damage this evening. Can you tell me what happened?”

 

“We were attacked by Death Eaters this evening,” Draco answered, waiting for the man’s reaction. All he received was a placid, but curious look. _‘How does one manage to look placid_ and _curious?’_ “I was in the other wing of the house. My mother would be able to tell you what spells were used.”

 

Narcissa scowled before her face went blank again. “There were several Severing curses, Blasting curses, Killing curses….” She turned hard eyes on the Healer. “They are too many. I was fighting for my life and cannot remember them all. Surely the Aurors can tell you once they arrive. They should have the suspects’ wands.”

 

“Yes, but if there was an unusual spell used that might explain the numbness in his arms,” the Healer, Mindwillow his nametag proclaimed, said. “Can you remember anything?”

 

“There was an odd orange cloud that I’ve not seen before,” she whispered slowly, making a chill crawl up his spine. “Lucius did not react to it, so I assumed that Travers must have miscast his spell…”

 

“Do you remember what incantation he used as he cast?”

 

“No, I was fighting as well.”

 

“What about you, Mr. Malfoy? Did you see or hear anything?”

 

Draco shook his head, trying to hold onto his temper with the stupid Healer. “I was in my wing of the Manor when the attack began. I only made it to my parents to help with the cleanup.”

 

The Healer sighed heavily. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to speak with the Aurors in charge of the case. In the meantime, it will be a while before I can let you see Mr. Malfoy, so you might want to attempt to get comfortable in those horrible waiting room chairs.” He pointed to the garishly bright orange chairs St. Mungo’s provided for visitors and both Malfoys sighed. They headed towards them, both cursing the fact that they couldn’t Transfigure them into something more acceptable since the excess magic interfered with the healing, or so the hospital staff always claimed.

 

Draco had lost track of the time as he waited in those horrible chairs, sitting next to his mother and dreading what news they’d receive when the Healer finally came back out from his father’s room. It was the voice of Ron Weasley, raised in anger, which caught his attention. “I don’t care what he says; he’s being a bloody _arsehole._ ”

 

“Ron!” Ah, and there was the Weaselette’s screech. Where one goes, the other is nearby. Of course, this was the new high security floor of the hospital, so Potter _had_ to be somewhere here. “There’s no point in being like that. Harry just woke up.”

 

“Ginny! You and I both know that he’s been avoiding us for months and doesn’t give a bloody rat’s arse that we were worried about him! He’s being selfish, self-centered and I don’t have to stand for it.”

 

“No one’s asking you to,” Potter’s voice, rough and dangerous, called coolly. “I told you to leave. I have nothing to say to you.”

 

“Harry,” the She-Weasel started, but he cut her off before she could say much else.

 

“You too, Ginny; I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I want to be alone.”

 

A mediwitch ran to the room the voices were coming from – the one next to Draco’s father’s, unsurprisingly – and tried to calm down the three friends. “I’m sorry, Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley, but we’ll need you to keep the noise down. Mr. Potter has just woken up from a head trauma, and he isn’t the only patient in the ward. If you can’t be civil, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

 

“Don’t bother,” the Weasel bit out, stomping passed the plump woman and heading for the lifts without a second thought.

 

“I’ll see you later, Harry,” the She-Weasel said before following her brother.

 

Curious to catch a glimpse of the wounded Saviour, Draco got up from his seat and peeked around the corner into Potter’s room. His hair was, predictably, sticking up in every direction, but not anywhere nearly as bad as Draco remembered it. His old, big glasses were gone, replaced by smaller, square, golden framed spectacles – the kind that complimented both his sun-kissed skin tone and square jaw. His trademark green eyes were dull and red, but no less striking. The only thing that was out of place was the heavy bandaging that wrapped around his head and covered his notorious scar. And the fierce scowl.

 

 _‘So, the rumours are true then… The Golden Trio is no more?’_ Draco thought gleefully before he realized what else was wrong with this situation. _‘Where is the Mudblood? Surely she’d want to be around when Potter and the Weasels fight it out to lend her nagging to the pile of shit that’s going on here…’_

 

“Mr. Potter, really, you need your rest,” the mediwitch begged, dragging Draco from his thoughts and making him look around the edge of the doorjamb again. “The Aurors will be back later to talk to you about the incident that landed you here, and you will require strength to deal with them.”

 

“Look, I don’t need rest or strength, or even the Aurors,” Potter growled. It was a low, menacing sound that forced Draco to pay extra attention to his former school rival in new ways. “I want to be released. It was nothing but a bump on the head and I don’t see why you all are making such a bloody deal out of it!”

 

“Draco,” the blond’s mother said quietly from behind, startling him. “What are you looking at so raptly?”

 

“It’s Potter, Mother.”

 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Potter was admitted to the hospital yesterday, wasn’t he?” Uncharacteristically, his mother moved into the line of sight of the door and knocked on the open portal. “Mr. Potter, you are looking much healthier than the _Daily Prophet_ has led us to believe.”

 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter said calmly, almost civilly. “Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, I’m afraid.”

 

“Well, that is good to know. If the Dark Lord was unable to kill you, it would be a great tragedy for you to fall victim to a silly accident.” Draco’s jaw dropped. His _mother_ was _teasing_ Potter. _Teasing_ him like they were old friends.

 

“That’s what I’ve been saying since I woke up, but these morons won’t listen to a word I say.”

 

“That _is_ unfortunate,” Narcissa said sadly. “Is there something that I or my family can do to assist you?”

 

Draco could almost hear her implying that he should list something so that they would be free of the many life-debts they’d accrued towards Potter. In retrospect, Narcissa had received her payment for lying to the Dark Lord for Potter when he stood up not only for herself but Draco and Lucius, as it were, at their trial. It was Draco who owed Potter, and he owed him greatly. And he knew and hated that fact.

Although, the look on his mother’s face, which would appear blank to Potter but showed how much she was scheming to her son, had Draco worried. Nothing good ever came out of that look, he knew. The last time he’d seen it, she’d bound Severus to an Unbreakable Vow with Aunt Bella as the binder. He _knew_ that he was going to be paying Potter back the life-debt he owed, and in a very uncomfortable way.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

As soon as Narcissa heard Harry Potter’s voice coming from the room next to Lucius’s she had to hide a smile. While the Dark Lord was alive, the boy had been a nuisance to her husband and son, and their master of course, but now was a time to put that all behind them. And what better way to do that than to have Draco assist the _Chosen One_ , as the _Prophet_ had taken to calling him, with whatever was wrong with him.

 

Not only would it help soften the Malfoy reputation that had been tarnished since Voldemort’s reemergence, but it would also allow Draco to clear the debt he owed. There was nothing so repugnant to both the Blacks and Malfoys than to owe something to one of _inferior_ birth. Although, now that she thought clearly about it, James Potter had been a pureblood, and this Potter was the heir of her cousin Sirius, meaning he held the legacy of two old pureblood families and was intimately tied with her own birth family.

 

It was times like these that she regretted that Bellatrix had murdered Sirius. Narcissa would have liked to ask the blasted convict just what sentimental, _Gryffindor_ impulse had made him think that Harry Potter, son of James Potter and a Mudblood witch, would be the correct person to continue on the tradition of the proud house of Black. However, that thought made her pause. If the Black estates and monies hadn’t gone to the Potter boy, they would have gone directly to Bellatrix, as the oldest of the Black daughters. Potter was a better choice.

 

Besides, once Rabastan and Rodolphus were caught, _again_ , and executed this time, the Lestrange monies and legacy would go directly to Draco, since neither of the Lestrange brothers had bothered to procreate. Not that Narcissa was complaining about that particular detail, mind.

 

“I’m not sure that there is anything you can do, Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter said, running a hand through his unruly hair. It was a near thing that kept Narcissa’s face pleasantly blank as she stood in the door of the boy’s hospital room. “What _are_ you doing here, anyway? No offense, but you’re the last visitor I’d expect to _ever_ have.”

 

“None taken, Mr. Potter,” she replied calmly. Her respect for the boy was climbing steadily higher as their odd acquaintance continued. “Malfoy Manor was attacked by some of our former associates and my husband was injured. He is next door to your room.”

 

“Oh, does that mean Draco is here as well?”

 

Hm, unless she was wrong, and Narcissa Black-Malfoy hardly ever was, Potter was interested in her son. _‘Convenient for both Draco and the family… I’m now completely and utterly ecstatic that I lied to Voldemort for this boy… However, I need to know what his connection to that vile Weasley family is still. That girl of theirs was here, but was turned out coolly… As if he was a pureblood and they the blood traitors they are…. Hm, interesting…’_

 

The blond woman allowed herself a small smile. “Why, yes, Mr. Potter, my son is right here, actually.” She turned to her son and fixed him with a cold stare before he could say or do anything stupid. “Draco, come and say hello to Mr. Potter.”

 

Her beloved son, heart of her heart, scowled most unattractively before shutting down his face and coming to stand at her side. “Potter,” he drawled.

 

“Malfoy,” Potter answered, his voice as emotionless as her son’s and belying his earlier obvious interest.

 

“Draco, I am going to attempt to get some answers from the Healers,” Narcissa said politely, sparing a brief and small smile to the bedridden Saviour. “I shall be back in thirty minutes.” She then leaned close and stood on her tiptoes, willing to look silly for what she had to say, since Potter and her son were the only ones who would see her acting so disgraceful. “Behave, or I shall have the elves refrain from assisting you for a month.”

 

When he nodded tersely, she passed her lips briefly against his cheek, bade goodbye to Potter and made her way to find a Healer to torture. She also needed time to make the two young men do exactly what she wanted them to do. In order to do that, she had to let them nearly kill each other right then.

 

TBC


	5. ...Harry and Draco...

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: Many, many thanks to my new beta, Jamie, for all her help with getting this chapter and the last few of The End Shall Come into shape. Luvre! And as always, thanks to Sevfan!

 

** Chapter Five - …Harry and Draco… **

Draco crossed his arms before his chest and moved to lean casually against the door frame as he took in the room’s occupant. Potter, though bedridden, still had an air of command that hadn’t left him since the moment he sprang miraculously back up from the dead. Those unforgettable green eyes blazed behind the new glasses with a fire that sent a trickle of delight slowly through his body. That is, until Potter closed them and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about your father, Malfoy.”

The blond eyed the other teen freely, trying desperately to figure out what his game was. “Thank you, Potter. I’m sorry that you’re here, I suppose,” he said uncomfortably. “If I remember correctly, you were never too fond of being hospitalized.”

He could have sworn that the black-haired teen muttered something along the lines of ‘too many questions’, but he was soon too busy being speared by expressive eyes to care. “Not really, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“And just what is?”

“Who attacked you tonight?” Potter’s voice was cold, as if belonging to someone much older than their eighteen years, a warrior ready for battle, evidently.

“The Lestrange brothers, Travers, Macnair and Avery,” Draco answered after a moment’s contemplation. “They have been apprehended by the Aurors.”

“After you and your parents probably caught the Death Eaters for them,” Potter said sarcastically.

Draco could feel the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile before he was able to shove his amusement down to a very small, cramped part of his mind for perusal later. “Indubitably.”

He wasn’t prepared for Potter’s laugh – a dark, rich thing that pulled something close to lust to the surface of Draco’s mind – and he had to turn his head to the side to hide most of the blush he could feel spreading across his face. This new Potter was _nothing_ like the boy he’d gone to school with, if their brief conversation was anything to go by. “Sorry, Malfoy, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that I’ve never heard that word used outside of the occasional blip on the telly.”

“The what?” His uncontrollable libido was crushed under his curiosity – _‘unlike sixth and seventh year when it was_ fear _crushing out what was normal from you’_ , Draco’s mind supplied, – and he moved closer to the reclining boy in his bed.

“Telly, it’s a Muggle thing,” Potter said offhand, as if Draco couldn’t possibly care. And, truthfully, he might not have if this was the same Potter. But, it wasn’t and he was _definitely_ curious, about many things.

“That’s what I gathered, since it was nothing that I’ve heard about before now,” Draco drawled, pulling back into his cool façade before he gave too much of himself away. It was obviously the wrong thing to do, though, for Potter’s face snapped shut faster than a Hungarian Horntail’s maw.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

 _‘Yes, what do you want, Draco?’_ The blond scowled, his mask becoming truth as his curiosity dwindled to a tiny trickle. “You asked about me, Potter.” If his voice was a bit snappish, well, that was to be expected, right? “The question is what do _you_ want, Potter?”

“I was merely making conversation with your mother.” Draco decided to let that go. He’d heard the way the other man had used his first name, something neither of them had actually permitted to happen in the seven years of their acquaintance. “But, do you know what’s wrong with Lucius?”

“As if you care,” Draco snapped, tired of being nice to Potter. “There’s nothing for you to do, _Chosen One_ , so just enjoy your bed rest and interrogation from the Aurors.”

“Look here, you pain in the arse, don’t you know how to be polite?!”

“Oh, yes, in fact, I have impeccable manners. I just choose not to use them when they aren’t needed.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“In your wildest dreams, maybe, Potter,” Draco drawled. Potter blushed and the blond’s eyes widened. _‘Dear sweet Merlin, you’ve got to be kidding.’_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa looked into the small, round window that showed the inside of her husband’s room. She could see his long, white-blond hair fanning out around his head while Healers, mediwitches and mediwizards surrounded the bed, but they blocked his familiar, handsome face. Footsteps sounded behind her, and she had her wand out before she’d completely turned around. It was only Healer Mindwillow standing there, a blank look on his face. “Healer,” she said coolly.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he replied. “While I understand that you and your family were the victims of an attack this evening, I have to ask that you please put your wand away.”

“Of course.” She didn’t trust this man. He was the only Healer she’d ever met that gave her the distinct impression that he didn’t care whether his patients lived or died. “Can you tell me what my husband’s condition is?”

“Well, after talking to Aurors Gillyroot and Beetstring, I’m almost certain of the spell used on Mr. Malfoy.” She allowed herself a moment of relief, but it was short lived as the man continued. “However, I am uncertain how Mr. Travers managed to miscast a Bedazzling Hex.”

“A Bedazzling Hex?” she asked, floored by the former Death Eater’s incompetence.

“Yes, that is what the Aurors found after examining the man’s wand.” The Healer sighed impatiently. “I am going to consult with a Curse Breaker from Gringotts to see if they have any suggestions.”

“How soon do you think it will be before something can be done to help him?”

“Depending on if the Curse Breaker can help or not, I can’t really say.”

“Thank you,” she replied, her mind travelling a mile a minute. “Oh, do you know who is in charge of Mr. Potter’s case?”

Mindwillow blinked, obviously thrown by the random question. If only he knew what she had in mind, then he might be hesitant to answer her seemingly innocuous questions. “I believe it is Healer Sharpe. She should be around. It’s her day for rounds. Did you need something with her?”

“Oh, no, that’s fine,” Narcissa answered with a genuine smile. She now had someone to talk to about Potter’s care. Oh, things were looking up; if one overlooked the care her husband was receiving at this time, that is. She hadn’t.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco just started at the Boy Who Lived, his mouth shaped into a little ‘o’ of surprise. Potter was refusing to look him in the face, and the former Slytherin Prince was at a loss for words. However, he didn’t have long to stand there alone with the other teen, because just then a team of Aurors breezed in. The taller of the two – a giant of a man with black hair and dead blue eyes – glared at Draco before growling, “Leave, Malfoy.”

The other, a petite blonde woman with doe-brown eyes, sighed. “Be nice, Carter. Malfoy’s just here to see his friend.”

“Weren’t friends from what I hear, Cobb,” Carter shot back.

“That’s beside the point. We’re here to talk to Mr. Potter about the situation that landed him here in the hospital,” the woman said cheerfully.

“Well, I won’t keep you from your very important job,” Draco drawled, rolling his eyes and making Harry’s lips twitch up into a small smile that make Draco’s heart lurch. “Potter, I suppose I’ll see you again, in the papers, no doubt.”

“No doubt,” the black-haired teen answered, still sounding amused. Draco had nearly turned to leave when Potter’s voice called out to him. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow in return. “Would you thank your mother for her visit?”

“Certainly, I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear you have manners as well.” When out in the hall, Draco took a moment to lean against the wall. His mind was reeling. Perfect Potter was _attracted_ to him. It was a bit more than he was prepared to deal with.

And information that he was inclined to use to his benefit.

Now, he just had to figure out what his mother had planned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Just as he was about to go searching for his mother, she walked around a corner down the hall, an enigmatic smile on her lips. He watched her as she made her way to him, that eerie smile still gracing her normally serene face. “Mother?”

“Ah, Draco, how was Mr. Potter when you left?”

“Dealing with the Aurors regarding his accident,” he answered.

“You don’t sound particularly happy about that. Did the two of you argue?” she asked in the tone that demanded a reply.

“Actually, there’s the rub… We were nearly civil to one another.”

“I’m proud of you, my son, for doing so,” she said, standing on tip-toe to kiss his cheek. “Now, I have spoken to Healer Mindwillow again. They finally know what spell Travers miscast.”

“What was it?” He needed to know so that later he could find someone to sneak into Azkaban and kill the stupid fool later.

“A Bedazzling Hex, of all things.”

Draco blinked, at a loss for words for the second time in the last hour. “Really?”

“So it would appear,” Narcissa said, her tone a dangerous and icy. “Mindwillow says that he must talk to a Curse Breaker from Gringotts for assistance in removing it.”

“Hm,” was all Draco said as he turned his attention to the door his father was behind. “Does he know why it reacted as a stroke would have?”

“He didn’t say anything about that, sadly.”

“Ah, yes, Mother, Potter says thank you for visiting with him.” His statement brought that enigmatic smile back to his mother’s face again. _‘She is plotting trouble. I wish Father was well enough to make her tell what she is thinking.’_

“Well, it was certainly no hardship to spend a few moments speaking to the man who saved my family from Azkaban,” she replied happily.

 _‘Oh, dear Merlin, I think I know what it is now,’_ he thought. “Mother, what do you have going on in that pretty head of yours?”

“Nothing that need worry you, my dear son.”

Oh, yes, because that always helped…

TBC


	6. Some Aurors Are Rather Stupid

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: Thanks to both Sevfan and Jamie for making this look better than I think I could! <3 to you both! And thank you to everyone who’s reviewed so far. Your comments are helping me plod along to get this done. And the first part of this chapter is going to be in Harry’s POV, because Draco just won’t know what’s going on. After that though, back to Drakie and his parents.

** Chapter Six –Some Aurors Are Rather Stupid **

“Really, Potter, you’ll have to tell someone something,” Cobb, the female Auror, nearly whined. “Trying to play the poor, battered hero is only going to get you so far. You have a duty to the rest of us to-”

“Bollocks!” Harry shouted, his temper flaring to nearly dangerous levels. “I did what I owed you people. I killed the great monster. My life is my own and I _resent_ you saying otherwise.”

“Doesn’t matter what you resent or not, Potter,” the other Auror, Carter he thought, replied. “And yelling at us isn’t going to make it any easier.”

“Go to hell,” Harry whispered dangerously. “I was at home. I’d been drinking. I fell and bumped my head. My stupid house-elf freaked out. End of story. Stop bothering me.”

“That’s not going to work. Minister Shacklebolt wants to put you on twenty-four hours a day protection.”

“Blow it out your arse! I don’t want it, and I’m not about to even let the Ministry waste the Wizarding world’s Galleons by letting you suggest it. Get out of my hospital room and don’t let the lovely doors hit you on the backside as you go.”

“You’re just as arrogant as I was told,” Cobb said. “It might actually be worse since you defeated the Dark Lord and got your pet Death Eaters off.”

“He’s bloody well dead! I think you can call him by the stupid name he gave himself by now. And I don’t have pet Death Eaters. I just didn’t want to see a woman brave enough to defy _Tom Riddle_ for her child rot in jail.”

“So you spoke up for the whelp and his father too?” Carter asked with a rather nasty sneer. It made his hard face even more unattractive.

“Get. Out. Now.” Harry could feel his magic boiling. It was at the point where a breeze had swept through his room and was playfully mussing up his already disastrously messy hair. The two Aurors looked like they were about to gag on the amount of power pouring out of him and scrambled out as quickly as they could.

“This isn’t over, Potter,” Cobb shrieked as she and her partner disappeared quickly.

Of course, he couldn’t rest easily after that. Oh, no, he had to be harassed by security and the stupid floor mediwitch and his Healer. After twenty minutes of lecturing about why such blatant displays of power were a no-no, Harry was allowed a pain potion, which he downed quickly, and left alone to ‘rest up’.

Not that his peace and quiet lasted.

However, the face that popped up in his doorway was at least a semi-welcome one. “’Mione,” he said happily. “How long have you been there?”

“I just got here, Harry,” she responded, coming up to his bed to fluff his pillows absently. “Ron wrote me while I was in Australia reconnecting with my parents, and told me everything that’s happened since I left after the trials.”

“Oh, he went tattling to his girlfriend when I didn’t respond to his letters, yeah?” If he sounded bitter, well that was to be expected, right?

“Not exactly,” his friend replied, moving away from the bed to sit down in the room’s only chair. “He understood about breaking up with Ginny because of the whole trouble during the war. What he didn’t get was the way you separated yourself from everyone. I tried to explain to him that you needed space to deal with sixteen years of trouble and lies and misadventures, but you know what he’s like.”

“Do I ever,” Harry muttered. “Look, skip the lecture, ‘Mione.”

“I didn’t come to lecture you, Harry. I just wanted to see how you were doing. I take it that Ron and Ginny visited earlier today. What happened?”

“Ginny cried about our break up and told me that she’d take me back at any second. Ron yelled at me and called me a coward and a few other names I won’t bore you with. I’d just woken up with the world’s worse headache, so of course I blew up and kicked them out.”

“Molly and George both wrote me independently of one another, wanting me to come home and ‘talk some sense into’ you. They were disappointed when I told them that you’d come ‘round if you wanted to and to leave you be for a bit.” She gave him a bittersweet smile. “But, it sounds like you’ve been a bit of a prat, left on your own.”

“Merlin, I just want them to go the fuck away,” Harry growled. “When we stayed with the Weasleys during the trials, I could just feel the pressure building. Ginny and Molly were waiting for me to ask Gin to marry me, and I don’t want that. Not sure that I ever wanted to marry her now that I’ve had time to think about it.”

“You just wanted to be a part of the Weasley family,” Hermione said with a wan smile.

“Yeah, I guess. That would be a horrible reason to tie Ginny to me in marriage, and not really fair at all.”

“I agree. You won’t hear me arguing with you about that, but, Harry, what have you been doing since then?”

“I moved everything to one of the smaller Black properties that Sirius left me, Kreacher included. I was studying for my N.E.W.T.s with a private tutor that I spoke to via Floo every day. I even started gardening again, for myself this time. Part of it has potion ingredients and the other part is a mixture of flowers and vegetables. Although, after a while, the pressure of everything caught up to me and I started drinking.”

“That’s how you ended up here then? There was no mysterious attack by Death Eaters?”

“Not on me, at least.”

“What do you mean?” His friend’s brown eyes were large with curiosity. “Someone else we know was attacked?”

Harry nodded. “The Malfoys were attacked last night, evidently, and Lucius was admitted into the room next to mine. I saw Mrs. Malfoy and Draco before the Aurors came to question me.”

“Oh, and how did that go?”

Harry blushed and turned his head to stare at the blank, white walls of his hospital room. “It was… interesting, you could say.”

“Hm.”

The rest of her visit was stress-free and full of anecdotes of what she’d been doing in Australia and how her parents were. It was the best time he’d had in ages.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Draco, you should return home,” Narcissa told him as she shook him awake. They’d been sitting in the hideous orange waiting chairs for any news from either the Aurors or Healers working on Lucius’s case for a while now and her son looked less like his usual pristine self. It was disturbing. “Take a shower and sleep in your own bed. I’m sure that the elves will wake you up in time for you to come and relieve me.”

“I’d rather not leave you alone, Mother,” he responded sleepily, rubbing at his beautiful grey eyes as he hadn’t done since before Hogwarts. “There’s no telling who might be after us or what will happen. I don’t trust those Aurors.”

“I know, my dear, but your eyes are bloodshot and your skin looks tired,” she teased. Her amusement levels went up at the look of horror on his face. “Draco, go home. I will be fine in the hospital.” She smiled and noticed that he was not reassured. “I might even visit with Mr. Potter again since our earlier meeting was so pleasant.”

“Whatever you have planned, Mother, I wish you’d let go. Now’s not exactly the time for intriguing plans.”

“You disappoint me, Draco. A Malfoy, and a Black for that matter, can always find a reason for intrigue. Since you are both, you should know doubly the value of a good plan.” She pierced him with a stern look. “Like the incident with the Vanishing Cabinets. I was rather proud that you thought of that on your own.”

“I never meant for Greyback, of all people, to come through them,” Draco whispered. He looked haunted for a minute.

“As far as I know, he only attacked the oldest Weasley son, so it was no big loss,” she breathed in his ear, placing a gentle hand on his arm. He was trembling from the memory. _‘He is too tired to be here right now. He dealt so well with everything lately that I momentarily forgot how young my_ son _is.'_ She sighed and turned to face him fully. “Draco Lucius Malfoy, you will return to Malfoy Manor, immediately and without complaint, to eat, sleep, shower and change into something presentable. If you return...” she looked at the slender watch on her wrist that read elven-thirty in the morning, “…before six P.M., I will be very angry.”

“Mother-”

“Enough, Draco, go home or I will be forced to tell Father just exactly how you’ve behaved in the past twenty minutes.” The look of betrayal that crossed his face, so like hers but with Lucius’s beautiful eyes, hurt but she stayed cold.

“Yes, Mother,” he whispered. With a stiff bow, he left the hospital ward. She waited exactly ten minutes before calling Dibby to make sure that Draco actually went home. The elf appeared with a clean set of robes and a book and pillow for her mistress, which Narcissa gladly accepted.

As soon as she was alone, Narcissa went down the hall to the restroom, where it was safe to use magic and cast a Cleaning charm on her body. She dressed in the fresh robes and smiled when she realized that her personal elf, Manky, had sprayed it with her favorite scent. Even trapped at this horrid hospital, waiting for news about her already injured darling Lucius, a little bit of home was very welcome.

When she returned to the waiting area, she could see the Granger girl coming out of Harry Potter’s room with a sad look on her pretty face. Narcissa made sure that she was in the girl’s way as she made to leave, and grimaced a bit as the younger woman stepped on her feet. “Oh, excuse me,” the girl murmured, looking up with her innocent brown eyes. “Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Miss Granger, what a surprise, although considering that Mr. Potter is next to my husband in this ward, I’m not entirely sure why I am so surprised.”

“I had heard that Lucius was here. How is he doing?” There was no trace of guile or animosity in the Muggle-born witch’s face.

“Not well, I fear. Healer Mindwillow has been disgustingly lax in actually keeping me up-to-date with his case. The last I heard, he was calling in a Curse Breaker.”

“That’s unfortunate. Is your son here?” Ah, a touch of fear flashed in those large eyes.

“No, my son went home to rest a little while ago. I will be sure to pass on your regards, if you wish.”

“Better not,” Granger said with a frown. “He’s not my biggest fan, I’m afraid.”

 _‘No, I’ve heard your biggest fan is the youngest Weasley male, my dear,’_ Narcissa thought with a flash of disgust. “Hm, yes, Draco did manage to pick up on that nasty little trait from his father.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, I may sound a bit impertinent, but why are you being so nice to me?”

 _‘Because you are Mr. Potter’s dearest friend, Hermione Granger, and I will need your assistance in the future.’_ Narcissa gave the girl a smile that actually reached her eyes. “Miss Granger, I am very much in the debt of Mr. Potter for saving my life and that of my son from Azkaban. If being nice to his friends is the only thing I can do, I see no harm in it. Besides, from all accounts, you are an intelligent, brave young woman.”

“Thank you,” the girl said, blushing prettily.

 _‘Why Potter, if he is indeed interested in women - which I sincerely doubt - never looked at this girl instead of the Weasley chit is beyond me.’_ “You’re very welcome. Have you just been to see Mr. Potter?”

“Ah, yes, I was visiting with Harry just now.”

“And how is he doing? There was some unpleasantness with the Aurors earlier, from what I understand.”

“He was fine when I left him, but his temper’s a bit mercurial right now. There’s no way to know what will set him off.”

Narcissa sighed at the familiar statement. “That, sadly, sounds all too familiar to what my son is going through. I was hoping that it was teenage rebelliousness, but I think it may have to do with the magical backlash that the Healers have been going on for the last few months.”

“Ah, yes, I did hear about that.” The girl had a faraway look on her face for a moment. “It was very nice to talk with you, Ma’am, but I really must be going.”

“Of course, Miss Granger, but I do hope to speak to you again.” Narcissa stuck out one hand, surprising the younger woman, and was delighted when she found the girl’s hand to be warm and strong. _‘Especially once I have things settled between Mr. Potter and my son.’_

As the girl left, Narcissa sat down in the waiting room chairs again, leaving her book in a robe pocket as she thought things over. Hermione Granger turned out to be a rare gem of a Muggle-born – powerful, intelligent, and attractive. Narcissa was strongly reminded of a younger Lily Evans-Potter and was struck with the fact that Potter hadn’t been more attracted to her because of the similarities. Perhaps it was the Weasley girl’s hair color that stuck with Potter and reminded him of his mother. _‘More’s the pity.’_

She was pulled from her thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps and looked up. Standing near her with an unreadable look on his face was Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Minister of Magic, with Arthur Weasley, Deputy Minister. She buried the sudden fear that spiked her heart and took a deep breath. “Minister Shacklebolt, Deputy Weasley, how may I help you?”

“Mrs. Malfoy, we’d like to talk to you about the attack at your home last night. Do you feel up to it?”

“Certainly, gentlemen, I can spare some time to speak to you.”

TBC


	7. Moronic Death Eaters Are Truly Troubling

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 Author’s Notes: Thanks to Sevfan, Jamie and Skeren Dreamera for making this look better than I think I could! I could never thank you ladies enough! I am surprised, and extremely pleased, to see how well Narcissa is being received in this story. I was sure that everyone would hate her, but since I adore her meddling, it’s nice to see that others feel the same way!

** Chapter Seven – Moronic Death Eaters Are Truly Troubling **

“I’d like to apologize on behalf of the Ministry that your home was attacked last night, Mrs. Malfoy,” Minister Shacklebolt said in his rumbling bass voice.

“Well, I must admit that I am a little surprised that they managed to get past the wards on the Manor that were bolstered after we were allowed to return home,” Narcissa said politely. “However, my son has told me that he believes that my brother-in-law and his friends got into the Manor through the dungeons, which are on a different set of wards and hadn’t been rekeyed.”

“Hm, we were unaware of that problem,” Arthur Weasley said. “I’m sure that we can take care of it later, if you’d like.”

“Actually, my son is interested in redoing all of the wards in our home, the dungeons included. Since he is now the head of the family, it is within his rights.” She gave them a slight smile. _‘If you try and dispute this, I’ll know exactly how you view my family – my son specifically – and I will deal with you accordingly.’_

“That’s not a bad idea,” Shacklebolt mused. “However, we’d like to keep the alert wards. I understand that your son set them off as soon as the attack began.”

“Yes, Draco’s quick thinking saved our lives last night.” She raised a pale eyebrow and waited for whatever else they wanted from her.

“As long as your son agrees to the alert wards, I’ll allow the rewarding of Malfoy Manor. If Lucius wasn’t under house arrest, I’d let them be removed, Mrs. Malfoy. I hope you understand.” The minister seemed to shift around on his feet nervously until she dipped her head regally. “Actually, that’s not all that we’d like to talk to you about, Mrs. Malfoy. Avery and Macnair have been talking since their arrest.”

“Oh, and what did those two _gentlemen_ have to say?” Narcissa asked.

“Apparently, the idea was to break into Malfoy Manor and convince Lucius to give them money so they could escape Britain,” Weasley said. “It wasn’t until they got there that the Lestrange brothers changed the plan.”

“And have you checked their wands completely for what spells they used against my family?”

“Yes, and if the Lestrange brothers ever recover from the attack, they’ll be moved to immediate execution as per the new law passed by the Wizengamot last week,” Shacklebolt answered. He didn’t seem to like the fact that that particular law was passed, but it had been in all of the papers that anyone baring the Dark Mark that escaped from imprisonment in Azkaban would be executed, since the Ministry no longer used the Dementors and their Kiss.

“Well, it couldn’t happen to two nicer men, but from what I understand, the curse they used mimics Muggle mustard gas and is extremely painful.”

“We’d like to know how your son escaped being harmed by the Corrosive Curse,” Weasley replied.

“You’ll have to ask him, but I’ve sent him home to rest. He was very tired,” she answered.

“Will you please let your son know that we’d like to speak to him again?” Shacklebolt asked.

“Certainly, gentlemen,” Narcissa said. “Is there anything else that I can do for you this afternoon?”

“That will be all, Mrs. Malfoy,” Weasley said, his voice only slightly hitching on her last name. Well, she couldn’t blame him. The Weasleys and Malfoys had been feuding for ten generations, eleven if one counted Draco and the younger Weasleys. Blood feuds were difficult to overcome, after all. “I’ve heard that Lucius was hit with an improperly cast Bedazzling Hex. Is that true?”

_‘As if you don’t know already, Arthur Weasley,’_ she thought sourly. _‘His attempt at being stupid does not fool me.’_ She gave him a small, sad smile. “Yes, it is true. Healer Mindwillow assures me that he can obtain some help from a Curse Breaker, but I have not heard from him in some hours.”

“Hm, my eldest son is a Curse Breaker for Gringotts,” Weasley said distractedly.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes at him. _‘Just what do you have in mind, Weasley? I am_ aware _of what your oldest son is and does for a living.’_

“Perhaps I can talk to him for you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

_‘I’d rather eat dirt than have your son anywhere_ near _my husband with a wand.’_ She gave him an insincere smile. “Oh, that’s not necessary, Deputy Minister, but I am grateful for the thought.” The two men bowed and headed to Potter’s room, leaving Narcissa with more questions than answers. She supposed she’d just have to wait to get some of them answered, and if there was one thing Narcissa Black Malfoy was known for, it was her patience.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He hated to admit it, but Draco felt like a new man once he’d rested, showered and eaten. His mother had been right to send him home. If there had been a situation at the hospital, he would have been completely useless, and with his father’s life on the line that was totally unacceptable. Although, so was doing nothing, like he was now. It was only four P.M. and although he’d only had two hours of sleep, he was wide awake now. That, however, might have had something to do with the way the scene with Potter kept replaying in his mind. The sight of those high cheekbones dusted a bright red did something to Draco that he was loathe to name.

_‘Potter is attracted to me,’_ he thought gleefully. _‘What I could have done with this information back at school. I could still sell the news to the papers. I’m sure that detestable Skeeter woman would jump at the chance to print any bit of news about Potter…’_ He scowled at that thought though. For some reason, he just wasn’t ready to share his little bit of information. He’d sit on it and see how things panned out.

_‘If I could only figure out just what game Mother is playing… It’s obvious that she is trying to get into a good spot with our hapless hero, but for what purpose?’_ He scowled as he looked out of the large windows of his room that had been repaired by the house elves after the attack. Everything was quiet and hardly anything moved out on the grounds, aside from an elf from time to time as they took care of the impeccable gardens. _‘Does she harbor some illusion that since Potter is parentless, he would let her direct his actions through subtle manipulations? He’s too stupid to see the beauty in my mother’s plans and would rant and rave over them.’_

After a few long moments of staring mindlessly out on the grounds, Draco paled. “Dear Merlin,” he whispered. “It’s worse than that…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco reluctantly returned to St. Mungo’s restrictive ward, all of his senses on high alert. The attack on the Manor still had him on edge, and even a little sleep and a full meal did nothing to relax him, not with Narcissa running around plotting. For the second time that day, he wished his father was well enough to keep her in line, but he realized that it was futile. His father would never be well enough again. It was why Lucius had made him head of the family. Never again could Draco rely on his father’s calm, self-possessed presence. He would have to learn to fend for himself.

He found his mother where he left her, sitting in those hideous chairs, a book in her hand and wearing a clean set of robes. She looked the perfect picture of a patiently waiting family member; however, the tight grip on the book’s edges belied her rapidly working mind. Cautiously, he approached her. “Mother, have you heard anything since I went home?”

“Oh, Draco, there you are,” she said wearily. “No, Mindwillow hasn’t returned since he told me what curse was used. I can only assume, which I hate to do, that he has been unable to reach a Curse Breaker willing to assist in the case.”

He mentally snarled at the injustice of the whole situation. Potter got all the attention here, while his father languished with subpar care. It was so typical of the way the Wizarding world coddled the stupid Boy Who Lived and wished all the Malfoys off the face of the planet. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“The Minister and Deputy Minister came to speak to me for a few minutes,” she said off-handedly. “The Deputy Minister even mentioned that his son, the eldest, was a Curse Breaker and asked if I wanted him to speak to the boy.”

“What was your answer?” His anger was quelled by the look of derision she gave him. “Of course… Did anything else happen?”

“No, it was quiet, my son,” she replied, shutting her book and standing. “I am going to go home and get some sleep myself. You will contact me if there’s any change, yes?”

“Of course, Mother. Please rest. I’ll stay here for the night. You can return in the morning.”

She gave him an indulgent smile and patted him on the cheek. “You are a good son, my darling. Perhaps you should visit with Mr. Potter again to pass some time, unless you brought a book of your own.” He pulled out his Muggle Studies text, the one that the Ministry recommended that he get for his N.E.W.T.s, and she sighed. “Alright then, be safe.” She gave him a cool kiss before he watched her glide down the hall as if she owned the hospital. However, the thought that she was still up to something wouldn’t leave him, even as he sat and tried to read his textbook.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Healer Sharpe,” Narcissa said, making the woman in the green Healer robes turn to face her. “I’d like a word, if you have a moment.”

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Malfoy?” Sharpe asked, shoving a few strands of her stringy, short brown hair behind her ears.

“I understand that you are treating Harry Potter.”

The Healer’s brown eyes grew sharper and narrowed as she looked Narcissa up and down. The blonde just stood there, waiting for the other woman, not worried for a moment that the Healer would do something to her. “And what is that information to you? I am unaware of the two of you being family, and even if you were, Mr. Potter is well over the age of adulthood and able to consult on his own case.”

“Oh, no, that’s not why I’m asking, Madam Healer. I am merely wishing to speak to you regarding the numerous cases of magical backlash that have sprung up since the Dark Lord’s defeat.” Narcissa’s smooth answer and calm tone seemed to make the Healer relax, and she even smiled at Narcissa. It didn’t hurt that Narcissa’s answer was even mostly true.

“I haven’t treated your husband and I’m not familiar with his case. I understood that Healer Mindwillow was assigned to take care of him.”

“Yes, Mindwillow is the Healer helping my husband, but I am worried about my son, actually.”

“Ah, yes, he was exposed to the Dark Lord for a long time during the last year of his reign, correct?”

“Yes, that is correct.” It seemed the woman was more informed than anyone else, aside from Healer Jacobi, could have been. “Would that have done something to Draco?”

“Well, from what I’ve heard from the other Healers and from the papers that have been published since the end of the war, the longer the exposure, the greater the case of backlash. Mr. Potter, of course, is the most famous example, aside from your husband Lucius, of how damaging this has turned out to be.” She shuffled the stack of parchment in her hand and sighed. “Perhaps you’d like to continue this discussion in my office? I’ve just finished my rounds, you see, and I’m exhausted.” She gave a slight, wry smile that Narcissa could not help but return. “And while we talk, you could tell me your son’s symptoms.”

“Certainly,” Narcissa answered, gesturing for the other woman to lead the way. “Since the Final Battle, he has become rather… high strung. I believe that’s the term. I understand that my son has always been an intense person, but he was raised from an early age to hold his temper. Of course, there are exceptions to this, and most of them centered on his rivalry with Mr. Potter.”

“That was publicized, yes, but he’s had trouble controlling his anger since then?” Sharpe asked as she waved Narcissa into a crowded office that was barely big enough for the desk and two chairs it held. Evidently, St. Mungo’s did not care to give comfort to anyone gracing its hallowed halls.

“Yes, that is part of the problem. He’s moody. I often find him staring out of the windows of our home, his mind a million miles away. When I call him, he jumps and then becomes angry. That is most unlike him.”

“Oh, that does sound like the depression that has been found in most patients. How would you rate the intensity of his anger?”

“Extreme.”

“Hm….” The Healer tugged on a lock of hair that appeared to be longer than the rest as she thought. “How much time does your son spend alone?”

“Quite a bit, I suppose. He is studying to take his N.E.W.T.s and I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Has he had any visitors? Friends, acquaintances from school, or the like?”

“No, I’m afraid that most of his friends have either been imprisoned or have fled the country,” Narcissa said tersely.

“Oh, hm, well, the reason I asked is because most people who have suffered from this particular form of depression seemed to respond well to outside stimulus.”

“Such as communicating with others?”

“That’s part of it. It’s been suggested that if the patient communicates with someone they have a strong bond with, it helps the magical backlash to dissipate some.”

_‘That would explain why when I spoke to Miss Granger this morning that she appeared to be perfectly normal,’_ Narcissa thought. “Would getting out of the country help as well?”

“I can only assume so, since it seems that only the Wizarding population of Britain was affected. I have yet to talk to someone who left after the Final Battle and then returned, mind you.”

“I spoke to Miss Hermione Granger. Perhaps you could do the same to help with your research?”

“Thank you for the suggestion. I will definitely keep that in mind.”

“I would just like to clarify something before I leave you, Healer Sharpe. If the one suffering from the backlash had regular contact with someone they have, say, an intense relationship with, then that would help to dissipate some of the nastier aspects?”

“That’s what I’ve been hypothesizing for the last eight months,” the Healer answered happily. “I was going to suggest to Mr. Potter that he stay with friends for a while, actually. It does no one any good for him to sit alone and brood, drinking himself to an early grave.”

“Thank you, Healer Sharpe. You’ve been most helpful.” Narcissa stood and shook the other woman’s hand, a tiny smile playing on her normally blank features. _‘You have no idea how helpful.’_

TBC


	8. All the World Is a Stage

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: As always, thanks to Sevfan, Jamie and Skeren Dreamera for all your help. Chocolate frogs are on the way! Also, congrats to Anatin123 for being the first person to actually figure out what Narcissa has in mind!

** Chapter Eight – All the World Is a Stage **

Draco sighed as he shut the cover to his school book, giving up studying since he couldn’t concentrate on the words before him. His mind kept wandering back not only to the conversation he’d had with Potter only that very morning, but back over their many meetings in the nearly eight years they’d been in each other’s acquaintance. He could still see the scared, skinny, rumpled scarecrow from the robe shop before they’d started Hogwarts. The boy who had refused his hand, offered in his first real attempt at friendship outside of the children of his parents’ friends. And the boy who spoke to Draco’s summoned snake before a crowd of scared children, a furious Severus Snape and that idiot Lockhart. The boy who had thrown mud at him in third year and watched as his low-born friend struck him. The boy who had ended up as the youngest Champion of the Triwizard tournament. The boy who’d defied that toad from the Ministry with every fibre of his being. The boy who’d stalked him mercilessly in their sixth year, trying to figure out what Draco was doing, and had nearly killed him, had it not been for Severus’s interference. The boy who’d stolen his wand from his very home, leaving him a defenceless mess with a maniac in said home. The boy who’d saved him from a very painful and horrible death in the Room of Lost Things. And the man who’d saved him and his parents from being sent to Azkaban.

As much as Draco hated Harry Potter, he admired him. He admired the easy mannerisms that won him friends in every House at Hogwarts, except Slytherin. He admired his bravery and loyalty. He admired his compassion and empathy. He admired his prowess on a broom and his natural leadership. He admired his ability to forgive.

Certainly, over the years, the news of what Potter had suffered due to the machinations of the adults around him had leaked out, especially after the war was over, and all of Potter’s supposed friends had been only too happy to sing his praises to the media. And there had been too many of those to sit well with Draco.

 _‘Has Potter had one friend who wasn’t ready to exploit his fame for their own ends? Weasley and his family have banked on their closeness with our own Saviour. Thomas and Finnigan are respected members of the community now. Brown and that Patil twit were only too happy to tell all they knew to that insufferable Skeeter about the Saviour’s love life while he attended school.’_ The blond paused in thought and growled. _‘The only person who hasn’t taken advantage of Potter and his nature is that know-it-all Granger. She’s been his only real friend, sticking by him for everything, even when her stupid boyfriend abandoned him.’_ He sighed again. _‘And Longbottom and Loony Lovegood,’_ he added mentally.

But, Draco knew that he had an advantage. Potter wanted him. The man who could have anything, anyone, he wanted, desired _Draco Malfoy_ , his most hated rival and complete opposite. _‘Perhaps that Muggle saying is true. Maybe opposites really do attract.’_ He smiled indulgently for a few moments before shutting down his features. It would do him no good if anyone caught him grinning like an idiot outside the room where his father was fighting for his life. _‘And Potter certainly is handsome, now that he’s outgrown the scrawny scarecrow that I first met. It would be no hardship on me to allow his attentions, at least on my aesthetics. His dark, softer features would be a great compliment to all of my lighter, sharper features. If only we weren’t likely to try and take each other’s head off every time we meet…’_

A sudden thought occurred to the blond and he couldn’t hold back a smirk. _‘Perhaps Mother’s scheming isn’t all that horrible for me. However, I wonder how Potter will handle it? Or my father?’_ The smirk died a horrible death as he thought about his seriously ill sire. _‘I wonder if he will ever leave this place, or if he will take up a permanent residence in the Janus Thickey Ward, next to Longbottom’s sad parents…’_

“No, I would never leave my father to the ministrations of this hospital after he is well enough to take home,” Draco whispered adamantly. He would take Lucius back to the Manor, where things were familiar and comfortable, and there he would stay until his condition killed him or they found a cure.

With that set firmly in his mind, Draco sat back to hammer out the details of everything. He would, of course, have to consult with his scheming mother to figure out just how far her plans reached and then assist. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t plot a few of his own.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The sound of Potter’s roar of anger snapped Draco out of the slight doze he’d drifted into hours ago, he calculated as he looked at his watch. A large boom had the blond out of his chair and racing across the hall to his former rival’s convalescence room.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, what have you been doing since the trials?” “The magical community demands explanations and they deserve an answer!” “Mr. Potter, is it true that your engagement to Ginevra Weasley has been cancelled?” “Is it true that you’ve decided to marry your friend, Hermione Granger?” “Mr. Potter, is it true that you and Mr. Ronald Weasley have a duel to the death scheduled over Miss Granger’s hand in marriage?” “Is it true that you’ve begun dating the remaining Weasley twin to share his grief over the loss of his brother?”

Surrounding Potter’s hospital bed stood ten reporters, shooting off endless questions, quills scratching mercilessly across parchment and cameras flashing every five seconds, filling the room with smoke and more noise. And in the middle of this chaotic ocean of activity sat one very _angry_ Harry Potter with his black hair blowing around his face and his eyes promising a horribly painful death to the invaders. In fact, the amount of power radiating off the man’s body was both terrifying and mouth-watering to the blond. However, he could tell that this would not end well if he didn’t step in.

“You have broken into a sick room, you vultures,” Draco drawled, leveling the reports with his best Malfoy sneer. “I cannot believe the level you would drop to, all to get some bit of gossip. Wouldn’t you be better off asking his supposed friends all these baseless questions?”

“Malfoy,” Potter whispered. As Draco looked up at the other man, he was met by confused, but amused, green eyes.

And when the reporters, as one, turned on the blond, he took out his wand and twirled it lazily in his right hand. “I am well within my rights to alert the Aurors and hospital security of your presence. In fact, I would be well within my rights to destroy your cameras and quills as well.” A few seemed to be brighter than the others and blanched, trying to quickly hide their equipment.

However, not all of them were that smart. “You can’t attack us, you scum! We’re just doing our jobs!” The man who spoke appeared to be Roger Davencourt of the _Prophet_ , the only reporter on the paper’s staff more likely to write untrue trash than Rita Skeeter herself.

Draco leveled his sneer at the small, portly man. “Mr. Davencourt, you are invading Mr. Potter’s privacy and disrupting the entire ward.” He snorted contemptuously. “Besides, I said nothing about attacking you yourself, just your worthless camera and quill, which are still going, I see.”

The man attempted to hide his camera behind his ample back, but Potter snatched it out of his hands and threw it effortlessly to the ground with a satisfying crash. That was the catalyst that put the other reporters into action. Before either young man could make a move or say another word, they’d run from the room, leaving Davencourt to the mercy of the two angry men before him. Draco pointed his wand and the man whimpered pitifully.

“You have five seconds to leave before I decide which bug I will Transfigure you into,” Draco said sweetly. “And I’ll have you know that I was top of the class in Transfiguration.”

The reporter didn’t even wait two seconds before pushing past Draco and running down the hall to the door of the stairs. Both young men grinned at one another before they realized who they shared space with at that moment.

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Potter said uncomfortably, his face going red from embarrassment this time. “I, uh, appreciate it.”

“Think nothing of it, Potter,” Draco said carefully, watching the dark-haired man from the corner of his eyes. “I would have done it for anyone.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Potter scowled before looking directly at Draco’s face, eyes unblinking and a little intimidating. “Why?”

“Why what?” Draco asked evenly.

“Why did you help me? We aren’t exactly each other’s favorite person, unless you’ve been replaced by a pod person?”

“A what?”

“Nothing… It just means that you’re not acting like yourself. Why did you help me?”

Draco smiled a little, congratulating himself on throwing Potter off his guard. “For two very important reasons. One, your yelling woke me up from a very much deserved nap, and I was irritated. And two, no person deserves to be photographed and hounded while they are sick. They’re worse than vultures. They haven’t even waited for you to die before picking over your body, and that’s disgusting.”

Potter snorted. “Interesting image there, I’ll give you that. Thanks again, Malfoy.”

“No problem, Potter. I couldn’t have you leveling the hospital in a fit of rage. My father is, of course, next to your room, and I would prefer he stay alive just yet.”

“Have you found out what happened?”

Draco _looked_ at the other teen, wondering if his interest was genuine. After a few long moments of staring deeply into those _very_ green eyes, Draco nodded. It was. “Travers miscast a Bedazzling Hex. I can only assume that it magnified and put strain on my father’s already weakened body.”

“Have the Healers found a way to help him then?” Again with the sincerity… It was enough to completely intrigue Draco. Not to mention that it actually furthered along his own plans for the Boy Who Lived.

“Mindwillow says that he has to speak to a Curse Breaker to find a way to reverse or disperse the effects.”

Potter closed his eyes, and Draco could almost _hear_ the Gryffindor’s brain thinking. “The only Curse Breaker I know is Bill Weasley,” he said reluctantly. “He, uh, might not be welcome to helping you out there with Lucius, but maybe I can get him to recommend another one that would.”

“Why?” It was his turn to question Potter’s motives.

“Why what?”

“Why would you put yourself out to help my father, who has tried to kill you on a few occasions and even pressured me into revealing who you were so you could be turned over to the Dark Lord? You have every right to wish him to the deepest pits of Hell.” And, truly, Draco understood that, but he wished very much right then that Potter was doing it for a selfish reason.

“Because I like your mother,” Potter answered carefully. “She’s not exactly the nicest or easiest person to get to know, but she warms up after a closer acquaintance.”

Draco raised an eyebrow in amusement, but said nothing.

“Besides, you didn’t, did you? Turn me in, I mean. You could have. I would have understood it, but you didn’t.”

“Is that why you saved me from the Fiendfyre?” Yes, let Potter answer that question!

“Part of the reason was that, yeah, I’ll admit. The other part was that you weren’t evil and didn’t deserve to die like that. Hell, not even Crabbe deserved that, but no one could have saved him. It took everything to get you and Goyle out before we all died.”

Shocked, and a tiny bit humbled, Draco stared at Potter as he tried to get his thoughts in order. _‘This stupid Gryffindor nearly died and he doesn’t even blink an eye. I’d have to cultivate a selfish regard for life in him before_ any _kind of relationship with him could progress.’_ He shook his head sadly. “I never thanked you for that. My most sincere thanks for your assistance, even if I was trying to capture you at the time.”

He was surprised by the sudden bark of laughter the other teen let out. It was rich and dark, luxurious and laced with danger. It sent little thrills of desire up and down his spine, and made him realize that maybe, just maybe, that Potter’s attraction was reciprocated.

“You’re welcome, I suppose, Malfoy,” Potter said when he was done laughing. “Tell me if I can help you out with your dad, won’t you?”

“I will keep it in mind, Potter.”

“Harry.”

“What?” Draco raised a pale, delicate eyebrow in question.

“Call me Harry.”

 _‘Alright, if that’s how the game is to be played,’_ the blond thought smugly. “Then, I suppose I can let you call me Draco, Po-Harry.” With a curt wave, he breezed out of the Gryffindor’s hospital room, just as the floor mediwitch came in to fuss over her patient for having a guest in his room so late at night. _‘That went almost as good as if I had planned it…’_

Draco froze in tracks, mind racing. _‘Oh, Mother, what in the world have you done?!’_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa bit back an uncharacteristically girlish giggle as she pulled out of Roger Davencourt’s mind. She should have thanked Bellatrix for teaching her Legilimency while the bitch had been alive. Perhaps she would have if she hadn’t been such a cruel, sadistic teacher.  Nonetheless, her little spy had proven most useful in helping get her plan started, even if she’d make sure he had no idea that he’d done so. Nothing a perfect Memory Charm with a suggestion that he had come up with the idea to break into Potter’s hospital room all by himself couldn't remedy.

 _‘The Bard did say that ‘All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players’.’_ (1) She rubbed her hands together and quickly modified the pyknic man’s memory of all of her involvement, summoning a house elf to escort him off of the Manor property when she was finished. _‘However, I do believe it is time for Act two…’_

TBC                                                                                                                                                    

Notes: (1) Quote from Shakespeare’s _As You Like It,_ Act 2, Scene 7


	9. Actors Must Learn Their Lines

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Author’s Notes: As always, thanks to both Jamie and Sevfan. Bertie’s Every Flavor Beans are on the way this time! Also, don’t expect the levity to last.

** Chapter Nine – Actors Must Learn Their Lines **

“Malfoy,” a voice whispered, breaking Draco’s concentration from his Arithmancy studies. He brought his head up and cocked an eyebrow at the distraction. Of course it was Potter, looking absolutely ridiculous _and_ charming in his hospital garments. He was standing in the doorway of his room, looking around to see if there was anyone coming. They weren’t. Draco was all alone with Potter, for a change.

Intrigued, Draco closed his book and gave the other teen a smirk before standing and joining him. He bit back a yelp of surprise as he was yanked back into the Gryffindor’s room. “Unhand me, Potter,” he snarled, shaking the offending black-haired man’s hands from his robes. “What is the meaning of this?”

“I thought you were going to call me Harry?”

The blond blinked in surprise at the look of hurt in Potter’s green eyes. He had to fight back a feeling of extreme guilt before he could reply. “I do believe that you were going to call me by my proper name as well. However, since you set the precedence by calling me by my surname, I only returned the favor.”

“Ugh,” Harry groaned. “Can’t you speak less ‘pompous git’ and more ‘regular bloke’?”

Draco felt a small smile threatening to show and didn’t fight it. “What did you want, Harry?” He tasted the other teen’s name on his tongue. It was like victory.

“You have to get me out of here,” Harry said lowly. “I can’t take it anymore. I feel like I’m about to start climbing the walls, without magic.”

“And you want me to orchestrate a breakout? Isn’t that Granger’s forté? Or do you require a blind dragon again?”

“No, just a blond one, if you could stop being such a berk.”

Draco snorted at the joke. “Well done, Harry. Your wit certainly has improved.”

“Malfoy…”

“Listen, Harry, I’m not sure what you want me to do.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Besides, I’m not entirely sure that I would be able to assist you, unless you had your Invisibility Cloak with you.”

“No,” the other teen growled. “It’s at my home, with my stupid house elf.”

“House elf? Moving up in the world, are we?” he teased. The look on Harry’s face, however, was not amused. “Why not just call it then? Surely, your house elf would have no problem coming into the hospital and assisting its master?”

“Oh, I’m sure Kreacher would come running the second I called him, especially with you standing there.” Draco said nothing, waiting for the other teen to elaborate. “He used to belong to my godfather, so he’s a Black house elf. He’s also responsible for Sirius’s death… along with your mother and that bitch Bellatrix.”

The almost animalistic way Harry snarled his aunt’s name made Draco take a step back, dropping his hands to his side and readying his wand. “I was unaware of that, Potter,” he whispered calmly. “You seem to have forgiven my mother for her part.”

“She was just doing what she could to protect you and Lucius,” the black-haired boy answered, seeming almost normal again. However, Draco wasn’t stepping closer to him unless he had to do so. “I don’t blame her, not really. Sirius was being stupid and not paying attention while dueling with Bellatrix. He…” Green eyes slid shut and Potter’s whole body seemed to go rigid.

“You don’t have to continue if it’s difficult,” Draco said in a moment of sympathy. He was pinned where he stood when Harry’s green eyes shot open and carefully examined him, as if he was an interesting potion ingredient or a rare animal species.

“You know, for a second there, I was almost convinced that you might be a normal bloke.”

“Well, allow me to abuse you of that notion. There is nothing remotely mundane about my personage.”

“Ugh, again with that pompous git talk… Look, are you going to help me or not?”

“As I said, I’m not sure what I could do to assist you. Perhaps if you gave me some time to think, I could consult with my mother and we could come up with a plan...” Draco trailed off purposely, waiting for Potter’s temper to flair. When the other teen merely stood there, silently contemplating Draco’s words, the blond breathed a sigh of relief. _‘Perhaps things could progress well after all. If I can just get Mother to not pull any more stupid stunts like with the reporters again. That could have been much uglier…’_

“Alright, I guess another day won’t kill me,” Harry said after a prolonged silence.

“Have you spoken to your Healer? Surely you’ve been told something.”

“Yeah, she said that she’s come up with nothing physically wrong with me, except for the bump on my head and some stress on my liver and kidneys…”

Draco raised an eyebrow at that. _‘We’re only eighteen. What could Potter have done to strain his organs so much that the Healer was cautioning him?’_ “Why is that?”

“Um, something about surviving the Killing Curse twice putting strain on all my internal organs and that drinking heavily has only exacerbated the problems.”

“And has she discussed a regime of potions to assist in repairing the damage?” _‘Surely the Healer would do so. Potter was the bloody Saviour after all.’_

“Not yet,” Harry answered slowly. “Or maybe she did and I didn’t hear her. It’s been kinda stressful around this hellhole lately.”

“Well, if you hear about that, I could possibly brew them for you. I’m not Severus, of course, but I am a dab hand at Potions, if you’ll remember.”

That comment seemed to bring up some memory for the black-haired teen and he smiled wryly. “Yeah, when you weren’t sabotaging my own mediocre efforts, you were pretty good, Draco.” He sighed huffily. “I’ll let you know.”

The blond had to force down a noise of surprise. “Really?” Harry’s questioning look had Draco trying to answer him quickly. “You’d trust something I brewed? I was sure you’d tell me that you’d have Granger take care of it.”

“Hermione’s got enough on her plate. She’d do it if I asked, because it’s important and she loves me, but I’d rather not burden her with something like this when she’s trying to deal with her parents and Ron.”

 _‘So, maybe there was some merit in the reporters’ questions about him and Granger, regardless of his apparent attraction to me,’_ Draco thought sourly, feeling his lips curl into a sneer. “I was under the impression that you and the Weaselette were dating and that Granger was with the Weasel.”

“She is, and I haven’t been with Ginny since the summer,” Harry shot back defensively.

His vehemence about the Weasley girl forced Draco to take a deep breath. “I see,” he said finally.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Healer Mindwillow said, his voice cutting any more conversation between the boys out. “Mr. Malfoy, I need to speak to you.” Draco sighed and stepped out into the hallway to face the bored looking Healer as he searched around the empty halls.

“You requested my presence?” Draco drawled, feeling his ire at the lazy man rise to the surface. He could hear Harry move behind him, but he didn’t care if his former rival heard what was happening. “Have you had any news about a Curse Breaker?”

“Yes and no… The only Curse Breaker that isn’t out on assignment from Gringotts is Mr. Bill Weasley. I did, however, have the opportunity to speak with the head goblin, Razzleshot, about the situation,” Mindwillow said, consulting his notes. “He said that it’s definitely something that can be corrected, but it would be a long, arduous and costly treatment.”

“And only Weasley is available?” Draco asked, feeling as if his father was about to die. “There’s no way he’d help in this case.”

“Yes, that’s what Razzleshot thought as well, but he did say that he’d try to talk to Mr. Weasley about helping.”

“Draco,” Harry said. His voice was strong and sure from his position behind Draco. The blond turned to face him, trying not to let his despair show. He must have failed because Harry came forward and placed a warm, large hand on one of his arms. “I told you that I’d talk to Bill. Do you want me to?”

Draco’s world came crashing down around his ears. It was all too much. The only person who could help his father was the man who Draco was semi-responsible for disfiguring, from a family that hated his own. What was he going to do? And there was Potter, of all people, offering to intervene on his behalf, to help a man who’d wanted him dead. His early words about Harry being justified in wishing his father far away and helpless to hurt anyone else rang in his ears and weighed heavily on his heart. They didn’t, however, keep him from nodding morosely.

“Is… is this treatment… something that has to be done here?” he whispered, feeling so young and frightened. “Or would I be able to take him home?”

“I’ll have to examine him again before I can determine that,” Mindwillow replied. “It would help if you could speak to Mr. Weasley as soon as possible, Mr. Potter.”

“I’ll get on that. Do you have an owl that I could borrow? I’d like to write Bill a letter, asking him to come to the hospital,” Harry asked nervously.

“Certainly,” the Healer answered. “If you write your letter, I’ll send it for you.”

“Thanks.” Draco was startled when Harry placed his other hand on the blond’s shoulder and turned him around. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I… I have to contact my mother,” Draco whispered. “She needs to know.”

“I can call Kreacher, if you need me to,” Harry offered with a small smile.

“No, thank you. I’d rather not have to kick any creatures right now.” His attempt at a joke made the other teen’s smile widen, and he felt a small place in his cold body warm like a stone on a sunny day.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa glared at the house-elf’s noisy appearance, but before she could scold it for the intrusion on her sleep, the elf squeaked. “Dippy is being very sorry for interrupting Mistress’s rest, but Master Draco is calling for you to come to the hospital. He is saying it is important and that Dippy is to be making sure you is coming as soon as can be.”

“That’s fine, Dippy. Bring me tea, and I’ll have Manky help me dress.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the elf replied before popping out. A few seconds later, Manky, Narcissa’s personal elf, appeared with her tea cozy sitting crookedly on her tiny frame.

“You called Manky, Mistress Narcissa?”

“Yes, Manky, I did,” Narcissa said, irritated at all the noise. “I need you to pick out a robe for me to wear to the hospital, and to do it quickly.” The elf disappeared into her large dressing closet and Dippy reappeared with a tea tray, complete with a pot of steaming liquid, cup, milk, and honey. A perfect cup was placed before her, and Narcissa sipped it delicately to avoid being burned by the hot drink while Manky brought out a set of day robes. When she was done with both the tea and getting dressed, Manky helped her dress her hair in a delicate French roll at the base of her neck and selected a silver torque and ice-blue aquamarine earrings that Lucius purchased before Draco’s birth.

While she did this, Narcissa avoided thinking about the reason her son was calling her to the hospital before she was supposed to come and relieve him. She knew that he must have news regarding his father’s condition, and that it had to be drastic for him to call her the way he did. However, she was trying very hard to calm her wildly beating heart and to stop the wild speculations that her brain was conjuring up. She’d know soon enough what was wrong, but that fact did nothing for the nervousness that was bubbling under the surface of her carefully constructed mask of serenity.

When she was done, Narcissa dismissed both elves and stowed her wand up the sleeve of her robe before making her way to the main hall so that she could Floo directly into St. Mungo’s.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was an unusual group gathered outside of Lucius Malfoy’s private hospital room in St. Mungo’s that late February night. Narcissa Malfoy clutched desperately  the hand of her son, Draco, while they stared stony faced as they listened to Healer Mindwillow enumerate the many things that could be done to assist Lucius until a Curse Breaker could be found who would take the case. They were joined by an equally unexpressive Harry Potter, who had ink splashed along the sleeves of his hospital garments. None appeared to like what it was that the Healer was telling them about the situation.

“As I told Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, your husband will only get better physically. The magical backlash that Healer Jacobi diagnosed him with back in June has progressed to a point where nothing we do will ever bring him back to where he was mentally before the Final Battle,” Mindwillow said as if he was speaking to idiots.

“I understand that, Healer,” Narcissa said coldly, narrowing blue eyes on the repulsive creature before her. “What I asked was if there was a way to delay the decay of his mind? So that we might have a few more months with him fairly lucid?”

“Well, I think that some Wit Sharpening potions might stave off the more serious aspects, but there is no cure for this.”

“As you have already said,” Draco sneered, feeling Harry’s hand on his back and unconsciously relaxing into the other man’s touch. “What if a Strengthening Potion was added to the Wit Sharpening potions?”

“I can’t see that they would hurt,” the Healer said, taking a step back from the group before him. “The best thing we can do for Lucius would be to have the Curse Breaker attend to him immediately.”

“I wrote to Bill already,” Harry said, keeping his voice low so only Draco and Narcissa could hear him. “I know that neither of you are crazy about the idea, but he’s good at his job. Besides, the goblins say that he’s the only one available.”

Draco watched as his mother placed a gentle hand on the former Gryffindor’s arm and gave him a fond smile. “Mr. Potter, I appreciate your assistance in this instance. If you believe that Mr. Weasley would be willing to help, I will trust you.”

“Draco?” Harry asked. It felt as if there was a world of things being asked by that one word, and the blond turned so he could fully see Harry.

“I trust you,” he whispered. His mother’s hand grasping his own tightened momentarily while Harry seemed to be utterly gobsmacked. If it hadn’t been such a dire situation, Draco would have reveled in being the one who’d put that look on the Saviour’s face, but he could hardly muster enough energy to care. He turned to face the Healer, who was still staring at the three of them with a look of fear and confusion. “If we can get Mr. Weasley to agree to help my father, would he have to stay here?”

“No, I guess not, Mr. Malfoy, but I would have your personal Healer see to him as soon as humanly possible.”

“That is doable,” Narcissa said, dismissing the Healer with a negligible nod of the head before turning to Harry. “Mr. Potter, how may we assist you?”

“You can get me the hell out of here,” he answered quickly. Draco watched as his mother gave the other teen a very warm smile.

“I believe that Draco and I can assist your freedom, as you once helped us with ours,” she said happily.

TBC


	10. Mutually Beneficial Allies

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! You guys rock! Blood Pops go to Jamie, Sky and Sevfan for this chapter! (For those vampiric cravings~!)

** Chapter Ten – Mutually Beneficial Allies **

Narcissa watched as the young man before her paled. One moment, Potter was demanding assistance to escape from St. Mungo’s care, and the next, he looked as if he’d take back every kind word he’d said to her and her son. “Do not fear, Mr. Potter,” she said as kindly as possible. “I spoke to your friend, Miss Granger, yesterday, and found that she was perfectly healthy and happy. After that, I ran into your Healer, and spoke to her about the damage the magical backlash could do if left untreated.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Malfoy, but I fail to see where this is going,” the young man said uncomfortably, shuffling away from Draco. “You said you ran into Hermione? And then spoke to my Healer?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said, letting her lips twitch up into an amused smile. “Healer Sharpe has hypothesized that contact with someone that you have a strong emotional reaction to could help with the depression, anger, and loss of magical control.”

“Oh,” he breathed quietly, looking almost relieved. “That would be helpful.”

“Indeed,” she responded, waiting for the teen to gather his thoughts before she sprung the rest of her plan on him. When he gave her a watery smile, she attacked. “Since that is the case, and my son would be mutually benefited by close approximation to your presence, I would like to extend an invitation for you to come stay with us at Malfoy Manor.”

“Mother,” Draco growled, seeming to finally catch up with what Narcissa was doing and why. “You can’t possibly be serious about this.”

“Oh, but I am, my darling,” she chirped happily, patting her son on his hairless cheek. “While I am aware that Mr. Potter would not have the best memories from his last visit to our home, the two of you have always had strong reactions to the other. It is the best solution all around. It will also spare Mr. Potter from having to deal with his undesirable fame.”

“How is that, Mrs. Malfoy?” Potter asked, his eyes brimming with hope in a way that pulled at Narcissa’s previously closed-off heart. The only other person who’d managed to move her like this was her darling son, who was currently looking as if he was carved from stone.

“While I am aware that you are the most sought after person in the Wizarding world right now, I also know that you do not relish your position in the community. I don’t know if that is stupidity, or just your overwhelming sense of humility that I have witnessed time and again. I also do not care which it is. The Manor has extensive wards that will make it impossible for anyone that we do not want around to have contact with you, the Weasleys included if you like.”

“No offense, Mrs. Malfoy, but the Manor was just attacked by Death Eaters. That doesn’t exactly sound like the safest place for me, of all people.”

She indulged the hapless boy-hero with a sweet smile. “Well, we are lucky that the Ministry has agreed to let Draco redo all of the wards on the Manor then, are we not?”

“They have?” Draco asked breathlessly. She knew Lucius would not have approved of their son showing so much emotion, but since he wasn’t screaming or off sulking, Narcissa allowed it.

“Yes, Draco,” she answered. “I spoke with the Minister and Deputy Weasley myself shortly after you left for rest. I was distracted earlier, or I would have told you before now.” She turned ice-blue eyes on the other teen, and watched as he seemed to sag in relief. “Would you be amenable to that situation, Mr. Potter?”

“Please, call me Harry,” he said. “And yes.” He shot a quick look at Draco before grinning. “If Draco doesn’t mind, that is.”

Both Narcissa and Harry turned to look at the young blond man as he scowled. She nearly crowed in triumph as Draco’s eyes slid closed and he slumped in defeat. “You wouldn’t be the worst houseguest we’ve ever had. And you don’t have a bloody man-eating snake.” He sighed heavily. “Why not…”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lucius’s world was made up of pain and confusion. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he wasn’t writhing in excruciating agony on some cold floor, he would have sworn that he’d been _Crucio_ ’d by the Dark Lord. Every nerve in his body screamed out in protest as he attempted to sit up from the bed he was lying in, and he was disgruntled to realize that he did not possess the strength to do so.

Slowly, he opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. White walls with depressingly simple landscapes greeted him, and he knew where he was. _‘St. Mungo’s… Perhaps the Dark Lord tortured me so bad at the last meeting that Narcissa was forced to bring me here? Why did she not consult with Severus before doing so? And where is she? And Draco as well?’_

He could hear his wife talking out in the hallway, and breathed a sigh of relief. At least he knew he wasn’t left to fend for himself in this bloody torture house when he was unable to defend himself. However, he made a note to ask his wife exactly what happened that landed him here in the first place. As of that moment, he decided that sleep was probably his best bet. It would allow him the rest that his body was demanding and clear up his befuddled mind as much as possible. When he was awake again, then he could start questioning his wife and heir. Until then, he would allow himself this brief respite from the discomfort that was currently plaguing him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kiss or kill his mother. It was a close thing, to be sure. She’d casually extended an offer to allow Potter into their home, essentially moving a few of his plans for the Boy Who Lived in to play, but with a few steps out of the way. However, she’d failed to consult with him before she did that.

 _He_ was Lord of the Manor, not her. It was _his_ decision as to who could come and stay in his home, and she’d disregarded his right to do so. Taking a deep breath, he realized how childish his thoughts were. What did it matter _how_ Potter came to the Manor? Wasn’t the important part that he moved in, even temporarily? Wouldn’t the close contact help him to find out just how much the attraction that was building up between them really was? So, if his Mother was pushing on with her own plans, which just so happened to coincide with his own, did it really matter _who_ extended the invitation?

Steeling himself for the rest of the conversation, he opened his eyes to find Potter staring openly at him. The warm smile that ghosted across the other teen’s face settled in his belly as a spot of sunlight would on his skin. “Yes, Harry?” he asked, trying to figure out what his former rival was thinking.

“Nothing, M-Draco,” he said, looking quickly between Draco and his mother. “When can this happen?”

“Now is hardly the right time, Mr. Potter,” Narcissa said.

“Call me Harry, Mrs. Malfoy,” he replied, flashing the same easy smile he’d given Draco when he said the same thing to him what felt an eternity ago.

“As you wish, Harry,” she responded, smiling briefly. “You must call me Narcissa as well. My suggestion is that you request to speak to your Healer in the morning. Find out all the information that you will need once you leave and when she’d be willing to let you be discharged. After that, find either myself or Draco and we will go from there. However, I must return home so that I can get a room ready for you and things settled for my husband.” She placed a cool kiss on Draco’s cheek before doing the same to Harry. “I look forward to seeing you again soon, Harry.”

“Goodbye, Narcissa,” he said politely as the stately woman left the two teens alone. When she couldn’t be seen anymore, Harry turned to Draco with an anxious look on his face. “Are you really okay with this?”

Draco took a long, hard look at his soon-to-be houseguest. Potter still had heavy bags under his very green eyes, but they were bright, active, and alive. His hospital garments were clinging to his shoulders and chest in a way that his Muggle clothing never had at school. In truth, aside from the fact that he appeared to need much more restful sleep, Potter looked better than Draco could ever remember him being. “Yes,” he answered finally. “It works out for you to come and stay with us, and I owe you a life-debt. I would be remiss in my duties as the Head of the Malfoy family if I denied you safe harbor.”

“Ah, alright…” Harry said stiffly. He was obviously unhappy with something that Draco had said, but Draco couldn’t place what it was. He’d said and done everything properly, according to the position he found himself in. “Well, I’ll talk to you later, Draco.”

Even after Potter had returned to his hospital room, Draco stood there lost in thought. _‘What was it that made his attitude change so quickly?’_ He shook his head. He couldn’t figure the other man out, and standing here thinking about it wasn’t going to give him his answer any time soon. He was much better off checking on his father and then finishing up his studying before taking a brief nap. He had a feeling that the next day was going to be long and trying.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry woke up the next day with a heavy head. He’d been avoiding thinking about the way Malfoy’s smooth voice had answered that he was only allowing Harry to come to Malfoy Manor because of a stupid life-debt. He didn’t want the blond to feel indebted to him. He didn’t owe Harry anything for doing something that any decent person would have done.

It was the sound of sniffling that finally forced the black-haired teen to open his eyes. He was greeted with the sight of his best friend, hunched over and sobbing silently into her handkerchief. “’Mione, what’s wrong?” he asked, cringing inwardly at his sleep-scratched voice.

“Oh, Harry, I’m sorry,” she said between sniffles. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“What’s wrong?” he repeated, noticing the way her face paled under her healthy tan. “What did Ron do this time?”

“What makes you think I’m upset over Ron?” He crossed his arms over his chest and leveled her with a hard stare. “Oh, alright,” she said with a huffy sigh. “I saw him last night, and… he was so angry with you.”

“About what?”

“As far as I can gather, he thinks that you’ve abandoned him,” Hermione answered, wiping her eyes dry and sitting up a little straighter. “He resents the fact that you left the Burrow and then sent his sister a letter to break up with her. That you didn’t answer any mail from the Weasleys after you left. He said that you think you’re too good for them now that you’ve defeated Voldemort.”

Harry snorted in disgust. “That sounds like Ron, I guess. What did you say to him?”

“That he was a stupid, big-headed, unfeeling idiot who didn’t understand a single thing that you’d been through and what you’d been forced to do when we were still relatively naïve.”

Harry gave his friend a small smile and took up the hand closest to him. “I can only guess that he didn’t take that too well.”

“No, not really,” she said with a disgusted sigh. “He told me that now he understood how we’d gotten along without him during the Horcrux hunt, and that he was surprised that we even bothered to act like we were anything but sleazy for deceiving everyone.”

Harry stared at Hermione in disbelief. “You’re telling me that he thinks… you and me? Is he stupid?”

Hermione broke out into nearly hysterical giggles. “I don’t know whether to thank you or hit you for that, Harry.”

“Sorry, ‘Mione, you know I don’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, realizing just how insulting his last question had been.

“Don’t worry about it.” She sighed as she calmed down. “So, what happened after I left the other day?”

“No, you’re not avoiding the rest of this conversation, Hermione. What did he _do_?”

“Told me to get out of his sight and that he wouldn’t date me if I was the last witch on the face of the planet.”

“Merlin, Weasley is the biggest idiot in England,” Draco said from the doorway. Harry and Hermione turned to stare at him as if he’d grown another head. “Don’t look at me like that. While I may not have the best record at being polite to Granger, even I know that she’s a good witch.”

Hermione looked at Harry with big, shiny eyes. “Do I get to be the Good Witch of the North or the Good Witch of the South?”

He couldn’t help it. He really couldn’t. Between the ridiculous look on his best friend’s face and the puzzled look the blond wore, Harry began laughing, hard and long. Through the sound of his own laughter, he could hear Hermione’s giggles, and that just spurred him along further. After a few minutes of diversion, Harry decided he was going to forgive Draco for his seemingly heartless remarks the night before, as soon as he could stop laughing.

“What?” the blond growled, taking a step into Harry’s hospital room, a blush dusting his pale cheeks and the tips of his ears. However, Harry was forced to ignore his question as his Healer walked in.

“Mister Potter,” she said happily, looking around at the teenagers. “Oh, I thought I would find you alone after what happened the other night with the reporters.” She started as she looked at Hermione. “You must be Miss Granger.” She stuck out her hand. “I am Healer Sharpe.”

“Hello, Healer,” Hermione said as she shook the older woman’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“And you too. Mrs. Malfoy actually recommended that I speak to you regarding my theory on the magical backlash of the Dark Lord’s defeat.”

“Oh,” Hermione squeaked, a blush taking over her cheeks. “That was very nice of her.”

“Yes, it was. And I hope that you’ll be willing to discuss how you’ve been since that time.” She stared at both Harry and Draco. “At a later time, though. Right now, I need to speak with Mr. Potter regarding his condition. Privately.”

“No, they can stay, Healer,” Harry answered. _‘Might as well let the two people who can help me know what’s going on as soon as possible,’_ he thought as he looked over at the blond, who appeared to be back to his normally cold, stand-offish personality.

“Oh, well, if you’re sure, Mr. Potter,” she said, shifting her papers nervously. He nodded and she gave him a small smile that transformed her face from plain to sort of pretty. “As I told you a few days ago, your case is rather severe. The only case that is more dangerous would be that of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, but his is so severe because of the memory loss. I have hypothesized that it’s because of his prolonged exposure to the Dark Lord’s magic while he was alive. Healer Mindwillow is of the opinion that it’s because of his prolonged usage of the Dark Arts, but he’s an idiot.”

A scoff from the corner where Draco stood grabbed the attention of everyone in the room, forcing them to look at him. “I’m surprised to hear a medical professional calling another incompetent.”

“Yes, well, forgive my unprofessionalism, but some people shouldn’t go into the art of Healing. Mindwillow is one of them.” She sighed. “I would have taken your father’s case if I hadn’t had Mr. Potter in my care already.”

“That is quite alright, Healer Sharpe,” Draco said. He sounded almost… _nice_. “Please, continue with Mr. Potter’s assessment.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right,” she said with a blush. “As I was saying, your case is severe, but not irreversible, I hope. If I understand correctly, you’ve been living alone for the last eight months, yes?”

“Well, I have a house-elf, but I don’t think you can really count him. He’s kinda… barmy,” Harry said with a shake of his head. Kreacher _had_ been better since their stay in Grimmauld Place after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, but that wasn’t really saying much. “But, yeah, other than him, I’ve been alone.”

“Ah, well, exposure to people who can evoke strong reactions and emotions from you would be the best remedy for the depression and anger you feel,” the Healer said kindly. “Even if it is someone who you do not like, the nearness of another person allows you to vent those negative traces that He Who Must Not Be Named thrived on.”

“So, you’re saying that I have to be around someone that I love or hate in order to get better?” Harry asked.

“To put it in lay terms, yes, that’s it exactly. Mrs. Malfoy also brought to my attention that Miss Granger has spent a significant amount of time out of the country since last June, and as we can see, she appears to be perfectly fine. I believe that her time away from other affected witches and wizards has sped up her recovery time.” She turned to Hermione with a look of impatient curiosity. “Tell me, Miss Granger, how soon after you left England did you feel less despondent, more cheerful, and better able to face those around you?”

“Well,” Hermione started as she thought about the question. “I went to Australia to be with my parents. When I got there, after the trials, mind you, I can admit that I was angry, depressed and fairly listless.” She paused as she thought some more. “I would have to say that it was probably a week later that I began to feel like my old self. I even began to worry about my N.E.W.T.s.”

Harry laughed at her answer. It just sounded so much like her normal self that he began to feel better himself.

“I’m glad that being surrounded by your friends has already made you easier to talk to,” Healer Sharpe said with a sly smile. “As you can see, Miss Granger’s time away has helped her make a nearly full recovery. I would still like to examine you when we’re done here, Miss Granger.”

“Oh, of course,” Hermione answered promptly.

“If you could please continue, Healer,” Draco said, bringing the other occupants’ attention back to him. “I’m sure that Mr. Potter would like to hear your complete diagnosis and treatment regimen.”

“Oh, y-yes, sorry for that,” she stuttered as she looked at her papers again. “Well, you are suffering from the acute depression and rise in anger levels that are proving to be typical in the last few months. Only they are exaggerated because of the close link you shared with the Dark Lord, of course. That led to your excessive drinking, which led to your accident that landed you here in my care. I’ve already explained to you that you cannot drink for the next seven months or you will damage your liver and kidneys beyond repair. Not even magic can revive dying organs, you know. I have heard that Muggles have perfected something they call organ transplants, but I haven’t read the literature to be up-to-date on their procedures.”

She shook her head sadly as she looked at Harry long and hard. “I cannot stress enough to you, Mr. Potter, how dangerous it would be for you to sink again into a drunken depression. Renal failure is not pretty, nor is it painless. There are potions that can reverse the damage your body has suffered from surviving the Killing Curse twice, but while you are taking them, you _must_ avoid drinking alcohol of any kind. Even Butterbeer is dangerous.” Her eyes flicked down to the sheets of parchment she’d kept a tight hold of since she’d entered the room. “Now, I can give you the name of a very capable Potion maker who would be able to keep up with your regime, but you would have to initiate the contact.”

“It’s not necessary, Healer,” Draco said, stepping towards Harry’s bed with what the darker-haired wizard could only classify as a possessive air. “I will be brewing Mr. Potter’s potions, since he will be staying with my family.”

“Excuse me for saying this, Mr. Malfoy, as I’m sure you are quite capable at brewing potions that you learned at Hogwarts, but these are rather…”

“Healer Sharpe,” Harry cut across the woman as she insulted the blond. “You’re actually talking to the best student in Potions that Professor Snape had in our year. And the second best is sitting on my other side.”

Draco looked as if Harry had struck him for a moment before he leveled his stormy grey eyes on the woman. “Severus Snape was also my godfather and took great care to make sure that I understood proper potions brewing procedures. As I said previously, I will be brewing Mr. Potter’s potions, as per his request.”

“Ah, y-yes, Mr. Malfoy, these are the potions that he will need,” she said as she handed him the prescription. “If you need help…”

“I will consult my godfather’s notes,” Draco said imperiously. “He left me all of his notes in his will and I’m sure they will suffice. If I have further need, I have a vast library in my own home and I’m certain that Granger would only be too glad to help me keep her friend healthy and alive.”

“Of course,” Hermione answered primly. “Harry’s health is very much a priority.” Even though her voice was strong, Harry could tell that she was anxious about having to possibly step foot in Malfoy Manor again. _‘It is the place where Bellatrix Lestrange tortured her. Can’t really blame her for being wary about going there. Especially since she doesn’t really trust Malfoy or his mum.’_

“Is there anything else, Healer?” Harry asked once he’d reined in his thoughts.

“Ah, yes, you’ll need to see a Healer once a week for three months to determine how your recovery is going. I would be more than willing to-”

“That won’t be necessary,” Draco said, cutting off the Healer yet again. “My family has a private Healer who would be more than willing to assist with both Mr. Potter and my father. I’m sure you’ve heard of Healer Jacobi?”

“Yes, I have,” she said irritably. “He’s the Healer who first treated your father.”

 _‘It sounds like she resents the man for being the one to discover the level of Lucius’s condition, instead of having the glory all for herself,’_ Harry thought, sharing a look of disgust with Draco. _‘Looks like I’m not the only one who feels that way. Guess we’ll have to talk about this when she leaves.’_ He looked at Hermione, who was glaring at him in a way that let him know he’d be explaining a few things to _her_ too.

“Well, Mr. Potter, since I’ve brought you up to date with everything, it’s my _duty_ to inform you that you may leave this afternoon.” She signed a few of the parchments in her hand and placed them on the table by his bed. “You are officially discharged from St. Mungo’s, but you can contact me at any time if you need additional assistance.” And with that speech over, the woman turned on her heel and stomped out of the hospital room.

“Alright, Harry James Potter, you are going to tell me _everything_ that happened while I was away,” Hermione demanded, leveling a death glare at Draco, as the stupid ferret tried to slink out of the room behind the Healer. “Oh, no, you can stay, Malfoy,” she added. “I have some questions for you too.”

TBC


	11. Coming Home?

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! You guys rock! Ice Mice and Licorice Whips for Jamie, especially, for helping me get out of my stupid writer’s block. (A note to MightyGryffindor on ff.net: yes, I’m aware that Harry only survived the Killing Curse once. However, most people in the Potterverse believe that he has survived it twice. Only Harry, Voldemort, Dumbledore and Snape know that Harry was a Horcrux, created at the first attempt to kill him. However, how much stress would Harry’s body suffer from finally expelling that _and_ returning from his semi-dead state?)

** Chapter Eleven – Coming Home? **

Draco sighed heavily as Granger stopped him from leaving the room. Really, the girl was perhaps the most annoying female he’d ever met sometimes, and that was saying something, considering he’d been friends with Pansy Parkinson since they were children. However, he knew that he’d have to get along with her, if not for his plans to make the Malfoy name mean something again, then because she was Harry’s best friend and a rather competent witch. That didn’t mean he had to enjoy being interrogated, did it?

Turning around, he looked at the room’s occupants with a sharp eye. Potter was giving him a small smile, but his eyes were sweeping up and down his body with a critical eye. _‘What is he finding so bloody wrong with me today? Did I not just save him from inferior brewing and a rather annoying sycophant of a Healer?’_ Granger, for her part, was looking at him with an expectant air. And, she was _still_ holding Potter’s hand like he belonged to her. That, out of everything that had happened that morning, irked him.

“What is it that you cannot live without knowing, Granger?” he sneered. She rewarded him with a hard look that made her surprisingly pretty face (and when had that happened?) appear very Slytherin-like.

“First of all, since when are you and Harry so friendly?” she asked. “The last time I checked, you tried to hand him over to the Dark Lord. You barely _looked_ at him when he saved your skinny arse from a sentence in Azkaban, not to mention your parents.”

“’Mione,” Potter said, squeezing the girl’s hand and her turning attention to the black-haired teen. “Don’t be so nasty to Draco. He’s been kinda pleasant since his father was admitted.”

“And what’s that about anyway?” she queried. “I thought your father was rather… _close_ …with the other Death Eaters. Why would they want to attack your family?”

Draco sighed and leaned against the wall near the door, looking out into the hallway and wondering if he could escape and be Granger-free soon. “Out of all the families following the Dark Lord, mine is the only one whose fortune wasn’t seized by the Ministry or fled the country. Needless to say, without funds, the loose Death Eaters cannot escape England to avoid Azkaban.”

“So, they attacked your family in the hopes of what? Coercing you into giving them money?”

“Precisely,” Draco answered, looking up at Potter through the few locks of white-blond hair that had slipped from its normal style. “However, my father no longer controls the family fortune, and I am actually Head of the Malfoy family now.”

“Oh,” she breathed, looking to see if Potter was going to react. The former Gryffindor only continued to study Draco, still wearing that stupid smile, but his eyes had softened and he appeared completely at ease. “So, why did you offer to let Harry stay with you?”

“I didn’t,” Draco said, using a hand to brush his mutinous hair out of his eyes. “My mother is quite fond of Harry. She evidently planned to ask him to stay with us after she talked to Healer Sharpe the day she ran into you, Granger. As I can be in the same room with him without wanting to hex him,” he smiled briefly at the other man, “I didn’t disagree.”

“What’s in it for you?” she snapped. “You don’t do _anything_ without some benefit to yourself.”

Draco took the opportunity to study his former rival and said rival’s best friend closely.  Potter appeared just as anxious to hear his answer as the girl. Granger, however, was staring at him like she used to in school, like she was debating to let him talk or hit him. He rather hoped that she would control herself. He didn’t relish being hit again. She had a mean right hook, if he understood the phraseology correctly. He was on the verge of answering her extremely impertinent, if not accurate, question before Potter took the opportunity away.

“’Mione, Narcissa was very gracious in extending the invitation,” he said. However, she cut across him.

“I don’t doubt that Narcissa Malfoy was the picture perfect of pureblood breeding,” she sneered – a very unflattering look for her, Draco thought. “That’s not what I asked. Malfoy doesn’t do _anything_ unless there’s something in it for him.” She paused, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Except for…”

Draco waited, feeling rather amused at the way Potter handled the girl. Instead of yelling at her to shut up and mind her own bloody business as he might have with anyone else, he let her think out things and say what she wanted. It was rather ingenious. And effective.

“Well, there was that time he didn’t turn you in at the Manor,” she whispered. Her healthy, tanned face paled, no doubt thinking about her own time at the hands of his psychotic aunt. “And why didn’t you? That would have set your family for life with the Dark Lord!”

“Granger, you’ve seen that insane, disgusting man, yes?” She nodded tightly. “Imagine living in the same house as him? Even at Hogwarts, I couldn’t avoid being called back to the Manor for other things. Severus even allowed me to Floo right from his office to go back so I could follow that idiot’s orders.” She paled further, and Draco continued his point, “I didn’t want him to win. Potter, Weasley and you were important for his downfall, am I right?” She nodded again. “Then you should rather stop looking a gift-horse in the mouth.”

“Yes, well, I’m just wondering if this is a case of Greeks bearing gifts,” she replied stubbornly, getting some of her coloring back. Really, the girl was too bloody _smart_ to be with someone like Weasel. He was never going to appreciate her wit and dry humor. For the first time in months, Draco regretted that Blaise was in France. Even for a Mudblood, Granger would have stood a chance in with someone who truly appreciated her.

Eschewing that train of thought, Draco continued, yet again, “What is in this arrangement for me?” He looked over at Potter, who began to blush rather prettily. “Aside from actually having Potter around me without the constant worry of hexing, it will make my mother happy.”

“And that’s all?” she asked, dark eyes hard.

He shrugged. “I cannot say that that is all that _might_ occur,” he drawled, basking in the discomfort of his former rival. _‘It certainly isn’t all that I’m_ hoping _to occur.’_

She snorted, folding her arms across her chest. “Yes, that’s all well and good,” she sneered, looking at her friend critically. She seemed to find something that alarmed her, however, and she drew back as if struck. “Harry? That’s why?”

Potter’s jaw locked stubbornly, and his face shut down in a moment of pique that Draco thought well deserved. “What?” he growled. “Do you have something to say about that, Hermione?”

“Oh, Harry, that’s _not_ what I meant,” she huffed. “It’s just, well, unexpected, I suppose.” She turned dark eyes on Draco, showing that they were uncharacteristically bright. “Malfoy, would you mind terribly if we spoke privately for a moment?”

Draco raised one eyebrow and thought about refusing her request, but he knew that Potter – no, Harry – would want to speak to the girl. And if this kept her close to the _Chosen One_ , in spite of her careless words, he’d allow it. He still needed her help, after all. Once everything was resolved, then he could force the issue with Harry.

He nodded regally and turned to head out into the hallway. “Harry, I will go check on my father and remain in the waiting room until you are ready to leave.” He didn’t wait for a response and went to gather his thoughts.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry waited for Hermione to continue speaking once Draco left the hospital room, but she seemed to be lost in thought. As time seemed to drag on and the silence grew uncomfortable, he shifted in his bed and turned to face her totally. “You might as well say what it is that’s bothering you, ‘Mione.”

“Hm,” she muttered, brown eyes clearing from her thoughts. “I… just… Harry, your love life is just that. I respect that decision, and I’ve never hounded you about your relationships. But, are you _sure_? It’s Malfoy,” she whispered. “And, well, you’re you.”

The wizard sighed as he reclined to the side and rested his head against the well-cushioned pillow. “I know that he’s Malfoy and I’m me. It’s very hard to miss those simple facts.”

“Yes, but this would… I always thought that…” Harry wanted to laugh at the way his friend was stumbling over her words. She was usually so verbose that this awkwardness was endearing and soothing to his frayed nerves. “Well, if you _dated_ – and I use that term loosely, mind – Malfoy, it would be difficult to have a family in the conventional way, and I was under the impression that that was what you wanted more than anything in the world.”

“I suppose, but that’s not really important,” he answered truthfully. “At least, it’s not right now. I’m just… tired, ‘Mione. I’m tired and I’m lonely and… I feel like the only one who really understands me is you, but that Malfoy – Draco – might comprehend things just as well.” He smiled as he remembered the way the blond has rescued him from those annoying reporters.

“Oh, Harry,” she groaned, taking his hand with a sigh. “I know why you left the Burrow, but did you _really_ need to push all of the Weasleys away when you left?”

“I didn’t mean for it to be so long,” he admitted. “Ginny kept giving me those expectant looks, and George was always so sad. Ron… I don’t know. He was just angry and kept snapping at me. Molly and Arthur cried a lot. And Percy… Well, Percy kept shooting looks at me as if he was waiting for me to turn into the next Dark Lord and enslave the rest of the family. I felt like everything was caving in around me. I was beginning to hyperventilate all the time. I was having panic attacks. Ron was telling me that I was being selfish and overreacting. That I hadn’t lost anywhere near as much as his family had, so I should just suck it up and get my act together. Some rot like that.

“That’s why I left. And once I was gone, it was just easier to stay away, especially the longer I stayed drunk. It was nice to just not _feel anything_ for a while, you know?”

“I can understand how that would be seductive,” she answered, patting his hand reassuringly. “I’m sure that’s how everyone feels when they fall into the way of drugs and alcohol.”

“Yeah,” he said listlessly. “I got all their letters, but I just couldn’t take it. I started sending them back, unopened, hoping they’d leave me alone.” He tried to smile at her, but he knew it was a grimace of discomfort. “And the more alone I felt, the angrier I got. I… I didn’t know how to really reach out, I guess.”

“It’s not surprising, considering the way your family treated you growing up.” He made a noncommittal sound as he watched her think. “You should have written me, Harry.”

“I didn’t want to bother you, ‘Mione. You were trying to have some family time with your parents. I knew you deserved it after a year on the run. Besides, it was Australia. Isn’t that what one _does_ after they reach their majority and have been freed from school?”

She snorted inelegantly. “I suppose so, but very few go walk-about, you know.”

“What can I say? I’m Harry Potter. I have to be different, I guess.”

“So, how long have you fancied Malfoy then?” She just barely managed to say his surname without frowning and Harry appreciated the effort. He seriously doubted he’d get much from Ron, once he found out.

“I don’t know when it first started, really,” he whispered, trying desperately not to blush. “He’s always been there. Even when we weren’t at Hogwarts after… the tower… I kept seeing him in my visions.”

“You never told me about that,” she said quietly. “And… seeing him like that made him look more human?”

“I guess what started that was the night with Dumbledore. He was _scared_ and helpless. I’d never really seen Draco like that.” He smiled briefly. “I mean, I remember that detention in the Forbidden Forest the first year.” He chuckled darkly. “God, he was such a prat.”

“Well, it’s good to see that you don’t think he’s perfect just because you want to shag him.”

“Merlin forbid,” Harry joked. “Draco and I have a lot of history, yeah, but I don’t think either of us is ever going to be perfect. There’s too much. We’d have to be under _Amortentia_ to be so blind.”

“You’re looking at this whole thing rather maturely, Harry,” Hermione said, pushing a few strands of her bushy hair behind her ears. “I’m glad about that.” She sighed. “You know, Ron didn’t tell me that he said all that to you. And you didn’t tell me the last time we talked either.”

“He’s a stubborn, selfish, jealous prat sometimes, ‘Mione, and I was tired of taking his shit because he’s got an inferiority complex over his self-worth. He helped me defeat the most insane, evil wizard in over a century. You’d think he’d take his share in the glory and let me mourn the loss of the last connection to my parents I had.”

“Oh, Harry,” she said, tears welling up in her brown eyes.

“Don’t, ‘Mione. Please, don’t. I… just…” He turned his head into his pillow and breathed in the clean scent of lavender that the hospital seemed to use in all its linens. “It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again, I think. Eventually, I’ll forgive him, if he asks for it, but I just don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You’ll have to talk to someone-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” As soon as he was done yelling, he regretted it. Hermione was the only person who’d stood beside him since he saved her from the troll in first year. “I’m so sorry, ‘Mione.”

She stared at him as if he was some sort of stranger. “And that’s what everyone’s been seeing from you?”

He shrugged, blushing horribly in embarrassment. “I… Yeah, sometimes worse.”

His best friend nodded sadly. “Harry, as much as it pains me to say this, I think that staying with Malfoy and his family might do you some good. You can yell and fight with them all you want, and Malfoy, at least, gives as good as he gets. You won’t have to bite your tongue.”

“That has got to be the worst reason I’ve ever heard for your approval for one of my plans,” he said with a genuine laugh. “But thanks all the same.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa didn’t know what she expected when Draco had sent word with his personal house-elf that he was returning to the Manor with Harry. Certainly not that he would bring Miss Granger along with them. However, looking back, she should have seen it coming. Since the Muggleborn witch was back in Britain, it wasn’t surprising that she would want to protect her best friend. Especially when he was entering the lair of a family of former Death Eaters.

“Why, Draco, darling, what a pleasant surprise,” she said coolly, coming down the vast staircase to greet her son and their guests. “You didn’t tell me that you would be bringing Miss Granger along with you when you and Harry came. What a naughty son you are.”

 _‘At least he has the decency to blush in embarrassment,’_ she thought before watching the two Gryffindors. It was the blush on the black-haired boy that made up her mind. _‘Ah, well, that_ would _explain a few fair details then.’_

“Mother, I apologize for not telling you,” Draco said. While he would sound cold and black to everyone, she, as his very fond mother, could hear the contriteness in his tone. “She insisted on being here when Harry joined us.”

“Yes, I believe she would have.” She gave the young woman a faint smile. “Miss Granger, what a delightful surprise for you to come visit me here at the Manor.” She watched as the Gryffindors exchanged silent looks and had to bite back a delighted chuckle. Oh, but how cute they seemed to be when they were playing into her hands.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” the girl said hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to intrude, but I wanted to make sure that Harry would be comfortable here at the Manor.” She was looking all around, tightly wound up, no doubt looking for Bellatrix and Greyback to jump out at any second.

“Miss Granger, I assure you that the four of us are the only people who are currently in the Manor,” Narcissa said, taking one hand to rest on the shoulder of her twitchy guest. “My son suffers so few people here, that I would be surprised if you even find many house-elves staying after this next week.”

The girl seemed to perk up and gain color in her cheeks. Narcissa did not miss the low groan from Harry as he attempted to get away from his friend, muttering something about spewing or some such thing.

“’Mione, not now,” he mumbled. “’M too tired to deal with house-elf rights right now. Can it wait until the third or fourth visit?”

 _‘Ah, yes, I remember Draco telling me something about her crusade for house-elves,’_ the tall blond woman thought merrily. “Darling, why don’t you show Harry to his room? I’m sure that he would like to lie down after being released.”

“Of course, Mother,” he answered obediently as if he was still her perfect child instead of the Lord of the Manor. “This way, Harry,” he said gently as he took the other boy’s arm. “I believe I know just what room Mother has put you in for your stay.”

 _‘I’m sure you do, my Dragon,’_ she thought as she watched the two boys walk carefully. For all of the Gryffindor’s apparent health and strength the night before, he seemed to have flagged almost as soon as she saw him. _‘I wonder if that is signs that he needs to see a Mind-Healer, or if it is just an overall symptom? I shall have Jacobi come in the morning to examine him.’_  She turned cool blue eyes to the other woman. “Now, Miss Granger, what can I do for you?”

TBC


	12. Dirty, Scheming Slytherins

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! You guys rock! Cauldron cakes for all!  But Jamie, I think you deserve a chocolate mousse for keeping me sane these past few weeks! *love* By the way, this is the longest chapter to date. I’m kinda proud of myself for that.

** Chapter Twelve – Dirty, Scheming Slytherins **

Draco led Harry to the suite of rooms directly next to his own. “This would have been the rooms any sibling I’d had would have occupied,” he said as he helped the dark-haired wizard on through to the luxurious bed.

“Merlin’s beard, can you say ‘ostentatious’?” Harry muttered, shaking his head as he sat on the down bedding of the king-sized, medieval-styled poster bed. The room itself was in shades of mahogany, cream and emerald green. Truthfully, this suite of rooms had always reminded Draco of a forest, but seeing the Boy Who Lived amongst the green bedding, he realized this suite was practically _made_ for Harry Potter.

“I’m surprised that you can, truthfully,” Draco retorted as he leaned against the doorframe, carefully watching his new houseguest for any changes. “But, I suppose with the company that you and Granger kept in the lion house, you had to learn to use small words to be understood.”

“Two words, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle,” Harry shot back teasingly. And his grin died as Draco flinched at the reminder. _‘Crabbe might not have been a_ friend _, per se, but the way he died…’_

“You’ve made your point.” The blond cleared his throat before beginning again. “Do you really think it wise to leave Granger and my mother together?”

“I don’t think that either of them is going to attack the other, if that’s what you mean.”

“No, not exactly,” Draco said, moving from the wall and approaching the seated man. “What I mean is that I don’t trust them not to plot and plan the rest of your life for you.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes as he turned his head up towards the bed’s canopy. Draco took a minute to admire the man’s pale throat while he wasn’t being watched by those bright eyes. “My life…” he scoffed. “It has already been plotted out and planned for me by more people than I want to even think about – Voldemort, Dumbledore, Molly Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and even to some extent, Snape. What are two more people who surround me, yeah?” Suddenly, Draco was faced with Harry’s green, green eyes, burning darkly with some sort of unreadable look. “Besides, I’m sure you’re used to that yourself, right?”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Draco answered uncomfortably after a few moments of reflection. “My life was set in stone from before birth. I would know all the right families and only associate with children my own age that my parents approved of. I would go to either Hogwarts or Durmstrang, be top of my class and Head Boy. Marry a beautiful and well-behaved pureblood witch. Then, finally, I’d have two children – an heir and a spare, my father told me – to continue on the family name.” He snarled in distaste. “I suppose my father never took into account that I actually detest females for the most part.”

“R-really?” Harry’s voice sounded… hopeful. “I was rather fooled, you know,” he said after Draco refused to answer his rather crass question. “I mean… you and Parkinson… you seemed… close, back at school.”

“You mean like you and Granger?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said lamely, and Draco could only be delighted by the very pronounced blush on the other man’s face. “I could see how that would be awkward…”

“There was a marriage contract,” Draco offered. “With the Greengrass family… They have two daughters. Daphne was in our year, slightly pretty, vaguely intelligent and easy to get along with, and Astoria, her younger sister, who is all that and more.”

“Oh…”

Draco had to fight back the chance to crow when he saw the look of shock and jealousy on the former Gryffindor’s face. It only added to what he already suspected, but was flattering all the same. The fact that the only person to reject him completely in his entire life was now beside himself with confusion, attraction, jealousy, and indecision was a balm to Draco’s tattered ego. “Not that it matters now, of course, since they’ve withdrawn the contract.”

“Well, that’s… unfortunate, I suppose, from a political standpoint.”

“Hardly,” Draco drawled. “I would have had to actually copulate with the Slytherin equivalent to Lavender Brown, if we’d married. Astoria and Daphne were sluts.”

“Lav wasn’t _that_ bad,” the Gryffindor said, valiantly trying to come to the aid of his stupid former housemate, who _was_ a bit of a slag.

“Potter, while Brown was with Weasley,” Draco shuddered at the thought, “the silly bint was sleeping with Michael Corner in Ravenclaw, Wayne Hopkins in Hufflepuff, and Blaise Zabini in Slytherin.” Harry made a few noises that sounded like he was struggling not to choke on his own tongue. “Oh, please, don’t tell me you didn’t know, Potter. Those are only the ones from our year. She was a busy, busy girl in sixth and seventh years. Brown, aside from the Greengrass girls and my dear Pansy, was the easiest piece of arse in the entire school.”

“She… she never…”

“Oh, you bought her whole ‘I’m just a sweet, stupid, Divinations obsessed Gryffindork’ routine?” Draco smiled viciously at the other boy’s distress. “Don’t worry, Harry. I’m sure Won-won has gotten over her.”

Harry snorted, face going a spectacular shade of crimson before letting loose a _delectable_ laugh. “Oh, Merlin, I remember that. She was so… And he was… Oh…”

Draco relaxed as he watched Harry collapse into a fit of laughter for the third time in his presence. _‘Perhaps I should tease him more about his stupid Gryffindork friends. He seems to take it rather well when it’s just the two of us.’_ Harry was still chuckling, wiping tears away from his wide green eyes, completely at ease. _‘If only school had been like this,’_ he thought wistfully before shutting that train of thought down immediately. One did _not_ dwell on the past. It was done and over with. Only sentimental Hufflepuffs whined about wanting to go back in time and make things ‘better’. Slytherins dealt with reality and moved on. However, if there _was_ one thing that Draco regretted, it was having missed seeing Harry like this before now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Please, sit, Miss Granger,” Narcissa said, waving a hand delicately at the antique furniture in the small study she’d led the girl. She’d wisely remembered that the normal parlour where she received guests would be too traumatic for the Gryffindor woman, as that was where her sister had tortured the girl.

“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not,” Granger said, trying her best to be polite.

 _‘It’s nice to see that even Muggles can raise their children with proper manners. It_ is _a shame that the Weasleys haven’t managed to do so,’_ Narcissa thought snidely. “While I understand that you are uncomfortable in my home, it is considered rude to refuse refreshment from your hostess.”

“Oh, I… I wasn’t…. I mean…”

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa interrupted gently. “I would appreciate it if you would please sit and have tea with me. I have no idea how long the boys will be, and there are some things that I would like to discuss with you while we are alone and away from nosy strangers.”

“Yes, of course,” the girl replied quietly, sitting on the edge of the seat across from Narcissa. While she appeared anything but comfortable, at least she was sitting down like proper decorum dictated. When Narcissa called a house-elf to bring the refreshments, the young woman scrunched up her face, but remained silent.

“Have you ever had proper High Tea?” Narcissa asked once they were sipping idly at their cups.

“Yes, my grandmother used to have it twice a year, during the summer. She taught me about proper etiquette as well for fun, after we’d watched a drama on the telly. I was fascinated, and Grandmother was only too happy to show me how to behave.”

Narcissa gave her an approving look. “That is very good. I’m sure that you will put those manners to good use at all of the banquets that will be held when May appears.”

“I suppose so. I hadn’t thought of it like that. I’ve been…”

“In Australia. Yes, I’ve heard. And how did you find it?” Narcissa asked, nibbling delicately on a chocolate dipped biscuit.

“Oh, it’s absolutely lovely there. The beaches are so different from any here in England, or even on the Continent. I’m rather taken with the Great Barrier Reef.” The girl seemed to come alive when she was imparting all the information she’d gathered while on her extended vacation, and as she spoke, she relaxed more and more. This _had_ been Narcissa’s point in bringing up the topic.

After twenty minutes, the girl shook her head and looked around the room, blushing fiercely. “I’m sorry. I monopolized the conversation, and you said that you wanted to speak with me.”

The blonde woman couldn’t help but give her young company a small, but sincere smile. “That’s quite all right, Miss Granger. I do wish to speak with you about something important. However, it is imperative that you relaxed beforehand. This is not going to be a pleasant conversation.”

“I’m not going to just abandon Harry here with you,” the girl said tersely.

Narcissa couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at her company’s indignation. “I haven’t suggested that you do so, nor would I,” she said seriously. “Miss Granger, I fear you misunderstand me. I admit that I find most Muggleborns to be crude, vulgar, and overbearing; however, you’ve proven yourself to be an invaluable ally to Harry. More so than Mr. Weasley and his family, even.” Narcissa set her teacup on the table between them, looking at the girl in her big brown eyes levelly. “While loyalty is not something that is toted heavily in Slytherin House at Hogwarts, or even in most of the older pureblood families, it is cherished when earned.

“Mr. Potter is, perhaps, one of the few people that I have met without genuine malice. Even his attack on Draco was not unprovoked.” She shook her head ruefully at the sharp intake of breath from the girl opposite. “My son knew _exactly_ what a _Cruciatus_ would do, and he was foolish enough to attempt it on an enemy that has bested him at nearly every turn for years. That was _not_ a smart thing to do, and he will carry a reminder of that for the rest of his life, which, Merlin willing, will be long and prosperous.

“However, it is not Draco that we were speaking of. It is Harry. When I first met him, I was _not_ impressed. He was skinny, short, underfed, appallingly attired, not groomed, and in the company of Weasleys.” Narcissa smiled fondly at the memory. “Looking back, I was quite rude to a rather important person, and I should not have been. However, that is neither here nor there. Mr. Potter has saved my son’s life twice now, and Draco owes him the life-debts that go along with that.”

“What about the one that Harry owes you when you lied to V-Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest?” Narcissa raised an eyebrow, trying to speculate as to why the girl would have stuttered over a name the woman knew the younger had used without repercussion a year before. That was, after all, how they’d been captured by the Dark Lord’s vile Snatchers. Either the girl wasn’t as whole as she appeared, and that was perfectly logical as it wasn’t even a year after the war, or she was frightened of being back at Malfoy Manor. Again, something completely understandable, but this hesitance struck Narcissa as something out of character that would need to be analyzed at a later time. Now, she had to deal with the conversation they were having.

“To be honest, I had no intention of collecting on it.” Narcissa sighed. “It’s rather un-Slytherin of me, to be sure, but I was only grateful that my son was alive and unharmed. Everything else was secondary. The fact that Harry felt it necessary to speak on my behalf at our trial, and therefore keeping me from a lifetime of Azkaban or execution, negated any magical binding for my lie.”

“But, if that’s the case, then Malfoy would only owe Harry _one_ life-debt, since he lied to you and Mr. Malfoy when we were caught last year.”

“Hm, yes, that _is_ true, but it’s a little more complicated than that, Miss Granger.” Narcissa refilled their teacups and called for more biscuits upon discovering that she and her guest had eaten the whole tray. “Draco actually owes Harry, not only the two life-debts, but a debt of honour as well.”

“How is that?”

“When Harry saved Draco in the Room of Requirement, he canceled out any debt owed when Draco lied last Easter. However, by speaking on his behalf, and so eloquently, I might add, created another debt.” Narcissa sipped her tea and tried to think of how to phrase the next part of the problem. “The crux,” she watched as the girl flinched at the use of that word, “of the problem is that Harry did not only speak on Draco’s behalf. As I have said, speaking for me, he canceled the debt he accrued in the Forest at the Final Battle. By speaking for Lucius, a sworn enemy who has tried multiple times, unrepentantly, to kill him, he created an even larger debt than even with my son. However, since Lucius is in no condition to repay the life-debt through his own intentions, it has passed on to the head of the family.”

“To Malfoy,” Granger said in a low voice.

“Precisely, and since he is head of the family, and the person responsible for two life-debts to the same person, it has become a debt of honor.”

“What would he have to do to repay it?”

“He must shelter Harry in his home and make him like family.”

“And?” She watched as the brunette raised an eyebrow, obviously suspicious.

 _‘I do believe that I could actually learn to_ like _this girl,’_ Narcissa thought gleefully. _‘For a Muggleborn Gryffindor, she is showing a rather Slytherin-like cunning. Oh, yes, this is wonderful.’_ She took a sip of tea before answering, using one of Lucius’s tactics to gather her thoughts properly. “If possible, he must _make_ Harry family. If it is not possible in matrimony, then he must endeavor to assist Harry in making a beneficial alliance.”

“So, you’re telling me that Malfoy either has to marry Harry into the Malfoy family or help him make a good marriage?”

“Precisely,” Narcissa said smugly. _‘In this case, I’m quite certain as to which option it will be for Draco.’_

“Harry’s never going to agree to this,” the young woman said promptly. “He’s had too many people trying to run his life so far. He’s never had an opportunity to actually _live_ his own life.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then what do you have planned?” Narcissa gave the girl an innocent and questioning look, which was responded to with an undignified snort. “Oh, please, you’re Slytherins. You’ve always got plans.”

“That _is_ true,” Narcissa answered truthfully. “Miss Granger, I refuse to believe that you have not noticed the… mutual attraction between my son and Harry.”

“Anyone with eyes has seen it.”

“I would like you to help me encourage it.”

She watched as the young woman’s eye flickered as she thought before nodding. “How?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry beamed up at the canopy of his bead, feeling light and free. It was the first time in… well… _ever_ that he felt the chains and scars from his childhood and the war retreat far enough that he could actually _relax._ And the fact that he was able to do so in Draco’s presence was _divine;_ at least, for the moment anyway.

He could hear the other boy’s footsteps get closer, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had no clue what was going to happen, and he was… frightened, truthfully, of what the Slytherin might be thinking. He realized that he was completely at Draco’s mercy, which, he had to admit, was very limited.

However, before either boy could do or say anything more, a tapping on the bedroom’s window caught their attention. “What’s that?” Harry whispered.

“It appears to be an owl,” Draco answered, stalking over to the window to let the creature in. One look was all it took for Harry to recognize the pretty barn owl. It was Etienne, Fleur’s owl, which meant the letter was from Bill. Draco tried to take the letter from the winged creature’s talons and was rewarded with a sharp beak to his fingers. “Ghastly beast,” he sneered before sticking his fingers in his mouth to suck off the blood the bird had drawn.

Harry had to drag his eyes from the sight of the stately blond with his long digits in his very tempting mouth before he could breathe properly. _‘I’m going to bloody die of arousal if I don’t pay attention to what’s going around.’_ He shook his head to clear it. _‘Right… Etienne… Letter… Bill… Do_ not _pay attention to Draco sucking his fingers. Do_ not _imagine what it would be like to have those luscious lips wrapped around my cock…’_ He blushed deeply before removing the letter from the owl, who hooted gently as he did so.

“Thanks, Etienne,” he whispered shakily, petting the bird and he tried to read the letter and avoid Draco’s inquisitive look. “It’s from Bill.”

“What does Weasley say?” Miraculously, Draco had managed to say Bill’s family name without sneering. It must have just been Ron or the family in general that Draco hated, or was it the fact that Draco felt guilty about the whole Greyback incident at the end of sixth year. “Potter,” Draco snapped, making Harry come back from his thoughts viciously. “What. Does. Weasley. Say?”

Gathering his courage, Harry decided it would be better if he just read Bill’s letter out loud. “Dear Harry….”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco took a sharp breath as Harry read the letter out loud. To read personal correspondence to him like that showed a great deal of trust, trust that Draco wasn’t sure he deserved, but was delighted to find that Harry had in him. Closing his eyes for a moment, he allowed himself to hear what the other boy was saying while trying not to tremble with this new revelation.

“Dear Harry,   
I must admit that I was shocked to hear from you after so long. Mum and the others told me what happened after the trials were over during the summer. I was surprised that you decided to leave the Burrow, but I can’t say that I blame you. If anyone deserved some quiet time to adjust to what Voldemort’s defeat meant, it was you. Too bad Ron, Mum and Gin don’t get that, but we all can’t be as smart as me and Fleur, yeah? I’m sure that they’ll come around, eventually, so don’t let it get you down. You’re family, no matter what stupid things happen. Just remember that.  
You know, I heard what happened at Malfoy Manor, and I was there at the trial for the Malfoys, so I’m aware of Lucius Malfoy’s condition. What has me stumped is that you’re asking me to actually _help_ the man who could have killed my sister. To be honest, I don’t want to do it. I know that you said that Draco Malfoy and his mother saved you during the end of the war, and I believe you, but Lucius Malfoy spent a long time tormenting my family and a lot of others. I’ll speak plainly. He deserves what’s happened to him.  
You don’t owe the Malfoy family anything, Harry. Remember that. You’ve already given them more than they deserve by speaking up for them and allowing them to return to their home, instead of sentences in Azkaban.   
If you’re really serious about this, I’ll consider it, but I know what happened between you, Gin and Ron at the hospital.  Besides, being in Malfoy Manor creeps me out. I don’t want to be there alone. Not without some reassurances that the Malfoys won’t do something to me if I can’t cure Lucius.  
I look forward to hearing from you soon.  
Your big brother,   
Bill

P.S. Harry, you should have come to us when you were feeling so down, chér. I would have helped you and smacked some sense into my youngest brother-in-law and Ginny. With all my heart ~ Fleur”

“Fleur?” Draco asked when Harry was done speaking. “Delacour?”

“Yeah, she and Bill got married back before seventh year. It was at the wedding that Death Eaters attacked. Ron, Hermione and I barely got out in time. It sucked that her wedding dress was so dirty after a beautiful ceremony and reception.”

For a minute, Draco found it hard to breathe. He was pinning the hope of healing his father on a man who Draco was ultimately responsible for scarring for life and who’s wedding to a beautiful part-Veela had been ruined by the Dark Lord. He couldn’t even blame the eldest Weasley son for not wanting to do so. He had no reason. And yet, from the tone of his letter, it sounded like if Harry could _convince_ him, Bill Weasley would do just that. It was then that he truly realized that he’d never fully understand Gryffindors.

“So, should we reply back?” Harry asked, bringing Draco’s attention back to the dark-haired wizard.

“I want my father healed, but I understand Weasley’s reluctance,” Draco said. “Is there some way to convince him that we mean him no harm?”

“Well…” Harry started before moving back to sit on the luxurious bedding that matched his eyes. “If there _was_ a way to make him feel safe here, he’d do it. Maybe we could let him bring George and Charlie?”

“Absolutely not,” Draco retorted. “I understand having the eldest Weasley son here, but not three of them. And certainly not the Weasel.”

“There _is_ a reason I didn’t mention him, Draco. That would be suicide for us all to let Ron into the Manor,” Harry snapped back. “Besides, I don’t want to hear the whole Weasel-Ferret argument while Bill’s here to cure Lucius. It’s stupid and childish and I wish you both would just _drop it._ ”

Draco blushed furiously in embarrassment. Here he was, Lord Malfoy, being chastised about childishness by Harry Potter, King of the Gryffindors. His ancestors were probably rolling over in their graves as they spoke. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“You’re forgiven, I guess,” Harry said with a sigh. “Okay, so, no other Weasleys but Bill. Got it. How about if I let him know that Hermione and I will both be here to watch all parties?”

“That might be a start,” Draco mused. “I have a suggestion, one that would be beneficial to all parties.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, have you heard of a Wizard’s Oath?”

“No, is it like an Unbreakable Vow?”

“Not quite,” Draco answered, feeling ill as he remembered how his mother had wrangled into such a vow with Severus to protect him during their sixth year at Hogwarts. “While breaking the Unbreakable Vow ends in death, if one breaks a Wizard’s Oath, you only lose your magic.”

“So, you’d be a Squib?”

“Exactly.”

“So, you’re willing to bet your magic on making peace with Bill Weasley?”

“If it cures my father, then yes.”

Harry looked at him for a long time, green eyes narrowed in thought. “Alright, I guess that might convince him, but I won’t just make you and Narcissa swear an oath. He’ll have to do it too.”

Draco drew in a sharp breath. “You mean you’d make Weasley give an oath not to attack any of us?”

“Of course, Draco,” Harry said with a tone that implied “don’t be stupid”. “I’m a guest in your home, by invitation of your mother,” the last part was said a little bitterly and Draco frowned, “and I don’t want anything to happen to either of you because I brought Bill here and then bound you helpless. It’s only fair that he’d take the same oath, seeing as how _both_ families have been feuding for Merlin knows how long.”

“Four centuries,” Draco answered automatically, making the Gryffindor blink and then laugh.

“Alright,” he said after he’d calmed down a bit. “That’s a bit long, I’ll admit, but if you both, as the heirs of the families involved in the dispute, can agree to behave, shouldn’t that make the feud die?”

“Actually, yes, it would.” He eyed Harry carefully and realized that he’d allowed Severus’s opinion of the green-eyed man taint his own. “You’ve certainly been around Granger too long if you’re able to make leaps of logic like that.”

“I’ll have you know that the Sorting Hat said that I had a fine mind and would do well in Ravenclaw,” Harry defended himself.

“I can see how that would be true, now anyway.” Draco smirked. “You’d also make an excellent Hufflepuff as well.”

Harry stood up and walked over until he was in Draco’s personal space. “The Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin originally.”

“What?” Draco shouted. “But you’re the paragon of Gryffindor. Any _fool_ can see that.”

“Yeah, well, why do you think it took so long for the Hat to decide Gryffindor? I begged it to put me anywhere _but_ Slytherin.”

“Why?” Draco was stunned. _‘You would have made an excellent Slytherin, Harry, and then maybe Snape wouldn’t have tortured you so badly at school. And we could have been friends so much sooner…’_

“It’s probably because I met the most obnoxious blond twit who was rude, spoilt, cruel, and reminded me of my useless Muggle cousin when I first entered the Wizarding world. All he could say was how he was looking forward to going to Hogwarts and being Sorted into Slytherin, as he insulted the first friend I ever made. Not to mention that the next time I met him, he insulted the first friend I’d made my own age and then proceeded to try and steal my sweets on the train.”

Draco flushed, realizing what a prat he must have come off as in his first two meetings with the scared young Harry. “And after you rejected my hand in friendship, I tortured you, Weasley and Granger for the next six years.”

“Right in one, Draco.”

The blond sighed in defeat. “I apologize for that, Harry.”

“It’s over and done with, Draco. We were young, and you were only behaving how you were raised to be. I can see that now.” Harry stuck out his hand with an impish smile. “We can be friends now.”

“You’re right,” Draco answered, grasping Harry’s hand tightly. _‘And hopefully more.’_

TBC


	13. Getting to Know You

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! You guys rock! Pumpkin pasties for everyone! Yummy! And as for the chapter title, I have _The King and I_ ’s soundtrack stuck in my head. Special thanks to Twisted Mind on hpfandom for reminding me that I’m a HUGE pervert. I heart you, dear!

** Chapter Thirteen – Getting to Know You **

_Dear Bill (and Fleur),  
Thanks for writing me back so soon. I’m sorry that I didn’t try to get in contact with you sooner than I did, but you’re right. I needed the space and I wasn’t getting it at the Burrow. I didn’t know that you would have given me refuge at Shell Cottage again, but I guess I really should have. I’m just not… used to having family, so the thought never occurred to me._

“Merlin, Potter, your handwriting is atrocious!” Draco grumbled as he looked over the Gryffindor’s shoulder while he wrote to the Curse Breaker and his quarter-Veela wife. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that before now?”

“Yeah, Snape,” Harry muttered.

“Didn’t you ever learn a Penmanship Charm?”

“No, what’s that?”

“Here, give me your quill,” the blond said, taking said object from the other boy’s hand and casting the spell on it. “It keeps your lines straight, so it doesn’t look like you’re drunk on Firewhisky as you write.” He gave his companion a slight smirk. “I’m surprised that Granger never told you about it.”

“She’s never needed it. Hermione’s got perfect handwriting,” the black-haired teen grumbled as he took the quill back. “Now, can I get back to my letter? I’d like to owl this back to them soon and then take a nap.”

“Certainly.”

_Anyway, thanks for the offer again, but I’m currently staying with the Malfoys at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa and Draco extended the invitation, and since I didn’t know that I’d be welcome at Shell Cottage, I accepted. My Healer advised me not to be alone while I’m being treated for the magical backlash, and Hermione surprised me by telling me it was a sensible thing to do._

“It was, you know,” Draco interrupted. He was surprised when the other man looked up abruptly, green eyes shining with something that the blond couldn’t place. When a small smile broke out over Harry’s face, Draco found it hard to breathe and he began to think that the environmental charms on the room had malfunctioned.

“Yeah, I do.”

 _I’ve talked things over with Draco, and he has suggested a Wizard’s Oath for your safety when you come. I’d like for you to make the same thing. Hermione and I will be here to keep both sides in line, no offense, while the curing takes place, so you don’t have to worry about your wellbeing. If this is amenable, please write back so that we can set up a date._  
All my love,   
Harry  
P.S. Thanks for the offer, Fleur, but I doubt it would have done any good. I’d love to see you again as well. Maybe you can come with Bill?

“Do you really think Weasley will let his wife come with him here?” Draco asked as Harry dried, folded and sealed the letter before attaching it to the leg of the barn owl that originally delivered Weasley’s message.

“I don’t know, but I thought if we extended the offer, then at least Bill would see that it’s genuine and not some scheme to kill him.”

“Very cunning,” Draco said with a bright smile. He was rewarded with an endearing blush from the Gryffindor before he yawned. “Now, I’ll let you get some sleep. I still need to talk to Mother and Granger about what we’ve decided.”

“Alright,” Harry responded, getting up from the fifteenth century writing desk that he’d thrown himself at to write the reply. Draco had cringed when he’d done it, but there didn’t seem to be any damage to the antique, so he’d saved his breath berating the tired Saviour. “If Etienne comes back, I’ll call you.”

“Thank you,” Draco said as he turned to go. Before he left the room, he spun back around to face his houseguest. “Oh, before I forget, I should probably assign you a house-elf. Mother would never forgive me if you got lost in the Manor while you’re staying here.”

“It’s not necessary,” Harry said sleepily as he took off his shoes.

“Actually, it might be. There are still places that are warded off because of the… last guests we had at the Manor, and if something were to happen to you, I think the rest of the Wizarding world would have me lynched.” Draco quickly ran through his mind the names of the more reliable elves his family owned. “Crimmy.”

A house-elf wearing a black tea towel that had been recently pressed popped up beside him, her long ears grazing the floor as she bowed. “You called for Crimmy, Master Draco?”

“I did,” he said tersely. “Crimmy, you are now the personal elf of Harry Potter, do you understand?”

“Yes, Master Draco, Crimmy is to be taking care of Master Harry while he is staying here.”

“Precisely.”

“Draco, you don’t have to do this,” Harry said with a horrified expression on his face. “I have my own elf, you know.”

“Yes, and from what you’ve told me, he’s hardly fit to serve Weasley, let alone you. However, if you wish to call him and have Crimmy help gather your things, then I don’t mind if Kreacher comes to stay at the Manor as well.”

“Oh, okay,” Harry said. “Kreacher!”

Draco flinched as the _oldest_ house-elf he’d ever seen popped up loudly and inelegantly next to Harry on the bed. Obviously the thing had forgotten how to behave like the elf of a rich, pureblood family over the years. “Master Harry called Kreacher?” Then the old elf looked around and his large eyes got impossibly larger as he spotted Draco. “Oh, we is at Malfoy Manor. Kreacher is close to Black blood again. He is so happy, Master Harry. There is no nasty blood traitors or Mudbloods at Malfoy Manor.”

“Kreacher!” Harry shouted, flushing angrily. “I thought we talked about you using those words.”

The elf seemed to deflate as he turned back to his master. “Kreacher is being very sorry, Master Harry. Kreacher will iron his hands when he is being done with Master’s biddings.”

“No, don’t do that,” Harry said gently, placing a hand on the elf’s thin, shaking shoulder. “Look, we’ll be staying at the Manor for a while, and Draco just assigned Crimmy to help me.”

Kreacher looked over at the proud Crimmy, who puffed out her chest in defiance as she watched him. “Master Harry is not needing stupid Crimmy to watch after him. Kreacher is to be taking care of Master Harry just fine.”

“This is not up for debate, elf,” Draco drawled, folding his arms across his chest. “I gave Crimmy the order to watch over Harry during his stay. You will not argue this, understood?”

“Yes, Master Draco Malfoy, Kreacher is understanding.” The old elf sagged and looked as if he was going to burst out into tears from the scolding.

“Good,” Draco said without mercy for the stupid creature’s feelings. “Now, you and Crimmy will return to Harry’s home and gather his belongings. Your stay is for an indeterminable amount of time, and I’m sure that Harry doesn’t want his things to be stolen by someone breaking into his home.” Both elves nodded before Kreacher grabbed Crimmy’s hand and then Apparated away. “I’m sorry for taking over, but your elf is impossible.”

Harry smiled sleepily as he lay down against the green bedding. “I told you he was. And thanks anyway. It’s better you that handled him than me. He still irks me sometimes, but that was actually much better than he used to be.”

Draco shuddered. “I can just imagine. He came with Grimmauld Place, I take it.”

“Mmhmm, used to steal things around there when Sirius was trying to clean it up. He even…” Harry trailed off with a frown. “He even helped your mother and aunt convince Sirius that I was in danger fifth year so that my godfather rushed to the Ministry and your aunt killed him.”

The look of anger on the green-eyed man’s face made Draco nervous. “I hope you don’t blame Mother for that anymore.”

“No, she was following orders,” Harry muttered, his features softening as he continued to look at Draco. “Kinda hard to say no to Voldemort when he doesn’t hold any regard for one’s family. I understand. I just hate Bellatrix.”

“Understandable,” Draco answered slowly, a warm feeling gathering in his chest. “I’ll leave you be. Crimmy will show you to the dining room in time for dinner. I’m going to check on Mother and Granger before I begin making arrangements to bring Father home.”

“Mkay,” Harry answered, closing his eyes. Draco watched him as he fell asleep before leaving, the warm feeling continuing as he walked through the halls of Malfoy Manor.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa looked up as the door to the parlour opened, admitting her distracted looking son. She hid a smile as she recognized the almost stunned look on his face. _‘I can only assume that things have gone well with Harry. However, I will just have to ask him why he appears so happy.’_ She leaned back into her chair at the tea table and motioned slightly with her head to the girl sitting across from her. “Ah, Draco, how is Harry?”

“Oh, he’s taking a nap,” the blond teen said as he took an open spot at the table. “He received a reply from Bill Weasley while we were talking.”

“Ah, did you now?” She waited patiently for him to continue. Sadly, Draco had inherited his sense of the dramatic from his father, and Lucius was known to have others practically begging before he gave in and told what he knew. Narcissa had _never_ caved into Lucius, and had no reason to start with her son.

“Yes,” he drawled, pouring himself a cup of tea and only adding a little honey, indicating that he was in a pleased mood and did not need the consolation of a lot of sweetness. “Weasley was reluctant to assist us, not that I blame him, but Harry is determined to have him help with Father.”

“That sounds like Harry,” Hermione – the girl had insisted that she be called by her given name, and Narcissa wasn’t likely to refuse when she needed her to back her plans – said. “What did Bill ask for to convince him?”

“Not much, actually, but he has had second thoughts about entering the Manor,” Draco said slowly before taking a sip of his drink.

“Malfoy, _I_ had more than just second thoughts about entering the Manor. I’m sure Bill had four or five second thoughts about doing so. He has even less reason to enter than I did.” Narcissa felt a momentary flash of shame for the way the girl had been treated in her home the last time she was here, but she was also wise enough to not dwell on the fact.

“My dear Hermione, while I agree with you, it is best that we find out how Harry has solved this problem,” she said warmly, causing the girl to smile widely at her. _‘Yes, if Harry had any leanings towards the female sex, he would most definitely been struck by his friend’s intelligence and beauty. I’m sure his relationship with the Weasley girl was more because it was what was expected of him after coming to the Wizarding world.’_ She turned cool blue eyes on her son. “Draco?”

He shook his head, as if he were able to read Narcissa’s thoughts, before answering. “He suggested that Weasley be allowed to bring a few of his brothers for protection.” Narcissa was about to object, but he gave her a knowing smile. “Of course, I refused. One Weasley would be enough, what with the feud between our families being so long standing. I suggested a Wizard’s Oath from the both of us, Mother, to guarantee Weasley’s safety.” He shook his head minutely yet again. “Harry wants Weasley to take one as well and offered to mediate, with Granger’s assistance of course, during the entire proceeding.”

Narcissa could have crowed for joy, if it hadn’t been completely undignified. “Wonderful news, darling,” she said calmly. “Do you know if Weasley will accept this proposal?”

“I can only guess at this point, Mother, but it would probably be the best solution to everything,” he replied before snatching the last biscuit and finishing his tea. “Harry sent the letter back, so we’re currently awaiting a reply.” He placed his cup softly on its saucer. “Did you know that he’s married to Fleur Delacour?”

“Wasn’t she the champion of Beauxbatons during the Tournament, dear?”

“Yes, she and Bill married last August,” Hermione answered. “They have a very pretty cottage out in the country.”

“Yes, Harry said that it was called Shell Cottage, but not much else,” Draco replied.

“He wouldn’t have…” the girl said carefully. “It’s where we went when we escaped here. We buried Dobby not too far from the house itself.”

“Dobby?” Narcissa interrupted finally. “Where have I heard that name before? Dear, do you know?”

“He was your husband’s personal house-elf, Mrs. Malfoy. Harry freed him from Lucius during our second year.”

“Oh, yes, now I remember,” the blonde woman said finally. “He was quite put out about losing Dobby’s services, but Sinky has proven to be a much more stable replacement.”

“Yes, well, Mother, Sinky didn’t have Grandfather Abraxas casting _Crucio_ on it every day while in his employ,” Draco said finally, a light blush dusting his chiseled cheekbones. She wondered if this had to do with his own experience with the _Cruciatus_ curse, or if it was because he remembered how Hermione was such a huge advocate for house-elf rights.

Narcissa looked over at Hermione, who appeared to be choking on something. “I’m sorry,” she whispered uncomfortably. “I can’t stay here.  I’ll be back in the morning to help with Harry, Narcissa.” She stood up abruptly and knocked over the chair she’d been sitting in, making her way to the door of the parlour. “No need to see me out. I’ll find my own way.” Then, she was gone, practically running out of the room.

The two Malfoys looked at one another, confusion showing openly before they both gathered their composure. “That was unexpected,” Narcissa mused. “I’m not sure why, however. We should have foreseen a very dramatic response to any mention of torture in front of the girl, especially if it occurred here.”

“Mother, we can’t always guard our tongues,” Draco said after a moment’s hesitation. “It will help no one if we tiptoe around what happened.”

“Yes, My Dragon, that’s true, but we _can_ try to be understanding to any discomfort we cause our guests,” she said. “It is not just Harry that is suffering at this point in time. Miss Granger was tortured most cruelly at the hands of my sister Bellatrix. The very fact that she was willing to step inside the Manor is a testament to her courage and determination to help her friend.”

“Then I guess the Hat wasn’t wrong for putting her in Gryffindor after all,” Draco snarked.

“Do _not_ demean her, Draco,” Narcissa warned. “As much as it pains me to say this, we owe a lot to Miss Granger, and even more to Harry.” She eyed him carefully, considering what she should say to him. “You are aware that you owe him a debt of honour, are you not?”

“Yes, Mother, I am aware of that,” he answered, properly chastised.

“Good,” she said, patting one of his long fingered hands. “I expect you to explain that to Harry. Not right away, of course, but eventually, he will have to be told.”

She watched as Draco slumped down into his chair, glaring at the wall across from him. “He will resent anything we attempt to do as far as a marriage contract with another family is concerned. And I have already offered him shelter here at the Manor.”

“There _is another_ way to fulfill that clause of the debt, Draco.” Narcissa waited, patiently, as her son put two and two together.

“Do you really think that he would? It’s improbable,” he whispered.

“Do not play dumb with me, My Dragon,” she replied, pouring another cup of tea from the newly refilled pot one of the elves had placed on the table. “You and I both know where Harry’s attentions lie right now.”

“That doesn’t mean that he would want to join the family, Mother,” he yelled. She raised one eyebrow at him and he flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you. I stand behind what I’ve said. At one time, he was with the Weaselette. He has made it clear that he never wanted to marry her. However, there’s no guarantee-”

“You, Draco, have not been paying attention as closely as you should.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth to retort. “I am aware, unlike your father ever could have been, that you had no interest in either of the Greengrass girls, no matter how attractive they were, or Pansy Parkinson, for all her fawning over you. I also understand why and do not care. You are well within your rights to not marry someone who would only embarrass the Malfoy name. Lucius was too blind to see the forest for the trees. I have been discussing certain things with Miss Granger about how Muggles reproduce, outside of the conventional means. It’s fascinating, to be honest. I suggest that you take the opportunity to learn some of that information.

“However, you are honour-bound to bring Harry Potter into our family or to help him make an acceptably respectable marriage. Were he to marry Ginevra Weasley, it would be beneath us and him both.” She held back a girlish giggle as her son scowled like he’d done as a child when told he’d have to wait for sweets until after dinner. “Now, do you know that your grandfather’s great-uncle Marcus Julius bonded with a man he owed a debt of honour to so he could fulfill it?” Draco shook his head. “Neither did I until yesterday while I was checking the family records.” She gave him a wide grin. “It just so happens that the man he bonded with was a Richard Potter.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next time Lucius woke up, the pain had subsided, marginally, but he found it impossible to raise his head or move any of his limbs. He felt as if he’d had a ten tonne weight strapped to his chest and he was breathing rather harshly. When he opened his eyes, it was difficult to focus on anything, even the bland, white walls of the room he was in. Slowly, he closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing as evenly as he possibly could.

The sound of others talking reached him, and it took a few seconds before the words made sense. “When is his family coming to get him then?” It was a woman’s voice and not one he recognized, which had his nerves on edge.

“I don’t know, but his miserable whelp of a son interrogated me earlier about his condition,” a male responded snottily.

“Really, Michael, you only have yourself to blame for being so rude to him and his mother while they were asking questions.”

“Yes, well, it’s difficult to deal with Death Eater scum. Why should I treat someone who should, in all honesty, be rotting away in some cell in Azkaban?!”

“Because you are a _Healer_ , Michael,” the woman snapped. “Regardless of the patient, you are bound by your oath to give your absolute best every time.”

“That may work for you, Sophia, dealing with the great Harry Potter, but you didn’t have to deal with Little Lord Malfoy.”

“Actually, it appears that Lord Malfoy is friends with Mr. Potter, and I _did_ have to deal with his stuck-up, bigoted arse,” she replied sharply. “Now, you should look after your patient until he is taken home, and then you have rounds. If I find that you’ve neglected to do so, I’ll reprimand you, no questions asked. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly,” the male Healer replied sullenly. “I’ll get right to it then.”

Lucius listened to the woman’s sharp, staccato footsteps as she walked away and feigned sleep when the door to his room opened. “Well, Mr. Malfoy,” the male said cruelly but quietly. “Let’s see what we can’t do about making you feel… _better_ , shall we?”

TBC


	14. A Puzzlement

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! You guys rock! Special thanks to Jamie, Jokes, and L – I love you all! And ForeverNocturnal, your conversations with me keep me amused and focused. Credit goes to her for naming Draco’s owl! Thanks so much!

** Chapter Fourteen – A Puzzlement **

By the time supper was served, Harry still hadn’t woken up. Narcissa looked over at her son, who appeared to be containing his temper due to the lack of a third at their table. She knew it wouldn’t be too long before the black-haired young man arrived. Crimmy, who Draco had assigned to attend their guest during his stay, was a good elf, and even if Kreacher attempted to get in her way, she wouldn’t fail her Master’s direct orders. Although, a much needed distraction was in order before Draco jumped up from the table.

“Have you contacted St. Mungo’s about Father’s condition, my darling?” she asked coolly.

“Yes, Mother,” he answered through clenched teeth. She really wished he wouldn’t do that. He had such beautiful teeth, and he was obviously determined to ruin them.

“And?”

“That idiot, Mindwillow, said Father could come home at any time before I brought Potter, Harry, here, but now he says it would be useless for him to leave the ‘stable environment of St. Mungo’s’ before we have Weasley ready to remove the miscast Bedazzling Hex.”

“Hm,” Narcissa replied noncommittally. “After supper, I shall contact Jacobi and have him go to the hospital and check on Lucius. I don’t trust that Healer.”

“Nor do I, Mother, but we can’t just leave Harry here alone either.”

“I have no intention of leaving Harry alone at the Manor. That would be disastrous.” Narcissa sighed dramatically, as if completely put upon. “No, Draco, I will go and stay with your father until Harry has ironed out all of the details of the arrangement with Weasley, and you will stay here to help him.” A slight cough from the doorway brought Narcissa’s attention to Harry, who appeared to be hopeful and embarrassed. “Harry, darling, how good of you to join us.”

“The elf Draco assigned got into another fight with Kreacher over who was going to wake me up, which progressed into an argument over who was going to pick out my dinner robes while I showered, and moved over to who was going to help me dress and escort me to dinner,” the dark-haired teen said in one breath, taking the seat opposite her son on her left. “You’ve got to do something about it, Draco. I’m going to kill them both if you don’t!” Narcissa, amused at the slight domestic issue, looked at her son and saw he wasn’t bothering to hide his own enjoyment over Harry’s predicament. “It’s not _bloody_ funny!”

“Language, Harry,” she chided sweetly.

“Yes, Potter, one does not curse in front of ladies,” Draco added with a smirk.

“Oh, if I’d know that, Malfoy, I never would have used such words around _you_ ,” Harry shot back quickly.

“Ahem, gentlemen, no squabbling over the dinner table,” she said before they could start one of their infamous arguments. It was _so_ difficult to get blood out of Irish lace. “Now, Draco, as the Lord of the Manor, you know it is your duty to settle any problems with the servants. As Harry is living here for the time being, Kreacher must be willing to answer to you, just as you must be willing to order him to his duties.”

“I’m aware of that, Mother. However, the barmy thing belongs to Harry, doesn’t he?” Draco asked petulantly.

“Are you, or are you not, Lord of this Manor?” she asked, receiving a curt nod in reply. “Then behave like it.” She turned to the other teen. “Do you care whether Draco tells Kreacher what to do?”

“Not particularly,” Harry answered. “So long as he doesn’t tell him to kill me in my sleep, I don't care what he tells that demented thing.”

“I doubt that that would happen, Harry,” Narcissa said, feeling almost giddy with reassurance. “Now, Draco, handle this matter immediately. Tizzy and the other elves will not serve dinner until this is cleared up.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dinner proceeded well after Draco got the elves into working order. Kreacher was to limit himself to cleaning Harry’s rooms and clothes, while Crimmy would do any fetching or escorting needed. Harry made him tack on the proviso that Kreacher would be in the kitchens if he wasn’t cleaning. He’d gladly given in, as he didn’t trust the elf anywhere in the Manor on his own. When it was over, his mother had left to talk to Healer Jacobi, and then to stay with his father at St. Mungo’s.

Draco escorted Harry to the family drawing room, far away from the room where he’d lied to his aunt and father about Harry’s identity the year before. He wanted to write to Granger, making sure the girl would return the next day, and Harry said something about playing a game of Wizard’s chess when he was done. After Harry was set to preparing the board, Draco pulled out a sheet of thick, creamy parchment, and penned a quick note to his former year mate.

 _Granger, I apologize if anything happened this afternoon that alarmed you. I’m aware that you are taking a great amount of your time to assist with Harry, and I appreciate all the help I can get. Mother also extends an apology. We should have known you would be uncomfortable back in the Manor, and that any mention of the Unforgivables would upset you. Harry is quite anxious to see you again, since he was unable to say goodbye before you left. Please reply as to whether you are coming tomorrow or not._  
Sincerely,   
Draco A. Malfoy

He carefully looked over the note and nodded to himself. _‘Polite, pleasing, charming… Mother would be proud. I’m finally using my manners on those that Father saw as beneath us.’_ He looked over at the other young man, who appeared to be staring into the fire. “Dibby,” he called out.

“Yes, Master Draco, you is calling Dibby,” the house-elf said as she appeared before him.

“Ah, yes, Dibby, please attach this note to Illyrius and have him deliver it to a Miss Hermione Granger.”

“Yes, Master Draco,” Dibby replied before Disapparating away.

“I’m surprised we haven’t heard from Bill again,” Harry said, causing Draco to look back at him. The golden tan skin of the former Gryffindor took on a reddish hue from the glow of the fire, while the light was flickering off the lenses of his glasses.

“Mmm,” Draco answered noncommittally before sitting down opposite his companion before the chess board. “Perhaps he and his wife are discussing the issue.”

“Maybe.” Harry looked up and Draco could see conflicting emotions flashing across the darkened green eyes before they closed. “You want white or shall I take it?”

“I’ll give you the advantage this time, Harry,” he teased. “It would be an easy win, otherwise.”

“It won’t be that hard, Draco. I’m not very good at this game, but I do like to play.”

“Mmm,” the blond repeated. _‘I wonder if I can use this opportunity to ask him more personal questions. He has yet to lose his temper with me, and I’d rather not have it occur when we are completely alone, but I also can’t be sure that I will have the opportunity to do so for a while.’_ He watched while his opponent moved his king’s pawn two spaces forward and moved the pawn before his queen-side knight ahead one space. “Harry, may I ask you about something personal?”

“I guess.”

“Why did you and the Wea- Ginevra break up?” He looked up to see a dark expression cross Harry’s face before the other man managed to shut it down completely. “If you don’t wish to answer, I understand.”

“No, I guess… It’s not that big of a deal,” Harry stalled. “After the end of sixth year, you know, Dumbledore’s funeral,” Draco flinched at the mention of the deceased Headmaster, “I knew I was going to have to go after Voldemort. Ron and Hermione had already agreed to come with me, but Ginny… Well, she was younger and didn’t know what we were going to do, ultimately. She’d already been possessed by Tom Riddle in our second year, and I didn’t want to risk her safety. I already felt guilty about my best friends coming; I couldn’t let Ron’s little sister get hurt. So, I broke up with her. I told her it was for her own safety, and she reluctantly agreed.

“I guess I left it a little open-ended, and after the Final Battle, everyone assumed that we’d get back together.” The dark-haired man shook his head sadly. “I- I was too upset over all the deaths – Remus, Fred, Colin, Tonks… It was just too much. Even your psychotic aunt met her end that day.”

“Trust me when I say that no one in this house is truly upset that my aunt was killed by Molly Weasley.” Draco sighed as he looked at his companion. “My mother told me months ago that she’d done all the mourning for Bellatrix she could when she first went to Azkaban. She hadn’t been in her right mind after she took the Dark Mark.”

Harry frowned momentarily. “Yeah, well, after the battle was over, I did see you with your parents in the Great Hall. A part of me was happy to see that you’d all made it out safely. Your mother saved my life in the Forbidden Forest, even if it was for your sake, and I was immensely grateful for that. It’s part of the reason why I spoke up for your family during your trial.”

“Since we’re talking about that, I have something I’d like to discuss once we’re finished with this particular topic,” Draco replied casually, trying to hide the way his fists were clenched at his sides. He kept his face smooth and expressionless as Harry tried to read him and nearly sighed in relief when the Gryffindor shrugged and looked down at the chessboard before moving his king-side knight to take out one of his pawns, making the poor piece shatter with the force of the hit. “Please continue your story.”

“Yeah, well, I stayed at the Burrow after McGonagall closed Hogwarts for repairs,” Harry said quietly. “Hermione was there too, and at first, it was so quiet, so strange. There were funerals to attend and then the trials. Ron got angrier and angrier with every trial I attended. He said I didn’t care about his family and that I was being selfish.” He gave a bitter laugh. “It was after speaking at your trial that it got bad.”

“I remember you and Weasley there,” Draco said tightly. “He glared at me like I was dirt under his shoes.”

“Yeah, by then, he pretty much thought you and the rest of the Slytherin families were pure evil, regardless of what side they were on.”

“I’m not surprised.” Draco sighed. Weasley was utterly predictable in his notions about those that weren’t like his family. “What happened next?”

“We hadn’t even made it fully through the Floo before Ron turned on me, screaming about not caring for his family. I just stared at him. Hermione tried to mediate, but he ignored her, continuing to scream, rant, and rave at me. Then, Gin and Molly came into the kitchen, trying to figure out what was happening.” Harry ran a hand through his thick locks a few times, almost as if he wanted to pull them out. “I refused to answer and told Molly that I was going to sleep in Charlie’s room that night. Ron tried to follow me up, but I think George had shown up and stopped him.

“I moved my stuff to Charlie’s room and stayed there for the rest of the day. I knew Hermione was going to Australia the next day, and I couldn’t stay there anymore. Ron wasn’t the only problem. When I wasn’t being paraded around as a walking witness for every trial, Ginny was clinging to me at the Burrow, giving dirty looks to Luna, Hermione, and even Fleur.” He gave a weak laugh. “Molly was hinting at another wedding in the family with really pointed looks in my direction.” Again, Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. “I’m not stupid. I knew what was going on. So, when Hermione left, I packed up all my things and went back to Grimmauld Place with Kreacher. When I got there, I closed off the Floo and took out the list of Black properties that I now owned. Kreacher and I checked them all out, and picked this small house near Cornwall. It was really a cottage, but it was far from the Weasleys and no one knew about it but me, the goblins at Gringotts, and possibly your mum. It was perfect.

“Kreacher and I packed up all we could from Grimmauld to make Breaker Cottage hospitable, and it was from there that I wrote the letter to Ginny, told her I wasn’t ready to date, let alone marry, anyone and that she’d be better off just going back to Dean, who was still mad about her.” He gave Draco a pained look. “I thought that that would be easier than telling her I saw her as a sister and the thought of kissing her made me want to sick up.”

“Yes, not exactly what anyone wants to hear, I expect,” Draco replied. “Although, that _is_ how I got Pansy to stop throwing herself at me.” Harry’s eyes widened and Draco couldn’t help but give a small, smug smile. “I told you. She was never going to be my bride, Harry. And no matter who it was, it was never going to be a marriage of affection. Not in the strictest sense, of course.”

“What’s that mean?”

 _‘He’s been honest with me, but I don’t know how honest I can be with him about this situation,’_ Draco thought carefully. The green eyes, that had expressed so many emotions since their meeting at St. Mungo’s for the first time in months, now gazed back at him earnestly and he sighed, knowing he was going to give in. “I prefer the company in my bed to be male, Potter. Surely you understand my meaning.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry drew in a ragged breath at the blond’s admission. Part of him had wondered, hoped, but he hadn’t dared put too much thought into Draco’s sexual orientation. He’d barely had time to figure his own out, and here he was considering what the other teen looked like under his robes after a few words. It was almost too good to be true.

“You may want to close your mouth, Harry,” Draco said, with a yet another smug smile. “You look like an even bigger idiot than normal.”

Harry automatically snapped his mouth shut, feeling a blush creep across his neck and cheeks. “You- You’re-”

“The correct term is homosexual, I believe.” One blond eyebrow quirked and Harry was forced to look away. “I do hope that me giving you that information will not come back to haunt me.”

“What? Do you expect me to run to the _Prophet_ and run a full page ad?” Harry snapped. “Yeah, let me get right on that. It’ll be front page news.”

He was surprised when the blond began to laugh, a bright, vicious thing, sounding just like he had been back at school when on the attack. “I doubt you would do that, as it would put you face-to-face with your least favourite people: reporters.”

“Exactly, and besides, it’s not anyone else’s business who you sleep with,” Harry muttered.

“I agree, but seeing as how we are currently living together, and my mother already knows my preferences, it would be foolish to try to keep the information from you.” Something about the way he said that had Harry searching his angular face, but it was so foreign, he was having trouble understanding what he saw there. “Is there anything else that happened with the Weasleys that would be beneficial to know?”

“Well, Percy came back to his family during the Final Battle. He actually killed Thicknese, I think.”

“Hm, well, that’s one less incompetent fool in the Ministry at least. Do you know what his standing is now that his father is the Deputy Minister?”

“I think he’s been taken back into the fold completely,” Harry answered, face scrunched up in thought. “Bill’s working for Gringotts, of course. I think Ron was going to become an Auror once he got all his N.E.W.T.s, even though he was told he could go right into an accelerated training, with or without his grades. I know I was. Kingsley seemed disappointed when I turned him down.”

“Is that why you were so angry with those Aurors who tried to question you at the hospital? I was surprised at how hostile they were to our very own Saviour.”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Harry grimaced at the memory. “For some reason, all the Aurors that made it through the war seem to think I owe it to the public to join up and fight the good fight, or whatever line they’re using this week.”

“You disagree? I was under the impression that that was exactly what you wanted to do once you graduated from Hogwarts.”

“Yeah, well, that was before Umbridge, Scrimgeour and seventh year.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair to calm himself. It wasn’t Draco’s fault that he was surrounded by idiots in the Ministry. If anything, the blond and his mother had offered him unparalleled protection from the people he didn’t want to see. “I don’t know what I want to do anymore, truthfully. I feel like my life was leading up to Voldemort’s defeat and now that it’s over, I don’t really have a goal in life anymore.”

“That’s rubbish, Harry.” He could feel those grey eyes boring holes into him without even looking up. “However, I could see how you would be a little adrift now that you have control of your life. It’s not something you’ve really had up until now. Granger mentioned that you have always had someone ‘pulling the strings from the sidelines’, whatever that means.”

“Yeah, that’s true.” Harry gazed at the fire burning beside him and let his mind drift. “Draco, when is Lucius going to be brought back here?”

“Hopefully, Mother and Healer Jacobi can get Mindwillow taken off of the case so that he can be treated at home. So, the earliest I would say is tomorrow morning.” He could hear the other man’s breathing speed up just a little and he turned to stare at him. “Harry, there is something I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“How much do you know about life-debts?”

“I know when I saved you from the Fiendfyre, I negated the life-debt I owed you for lying last year.”

“That is very true,” Draco said in a strained tone. “When my mother lied for you to the Dark Lord, you owed her a debt that was paid by speaking for her.”

“Yeah, I understand. Narcissa and I are even, but…” Something clicked for Harry as he took in the other man’s posture and facial expression. “You and Lucius both owe me debts, don’t you?”

“Yes, to be honest, I think I owe you two, one for when you saved me from that Death Eater that was about to attack me, and another for speaking on my behalf at the trial. Lucius owes you one of an honourable enemy, since you saved him from Azkaban and the Kiss without him thanking you in any fashion.” The blond leaned over the chess board, their game completely forgotten. “Surely you understand that my father is unable to fulfil any debts as of now, and that they all fall to me as Head of the family.”

“That’s not fair to you though!”

“That’s the way it is. As it stands, I actually owe you what is called a debt of honour because of my father, and it holds very strict rules for its fulfilment.”

“What would those be?” Harry growled, knowing he was going to hate the terms.

“First, I must shelter you in my home if you require it. My mother must have realized that when she offered you sanctuary at the Manor.”

“Alright, and the others?”

“Then, I must try to make you family to recover the lost honour,” Draco said through clenched teeth. Harry could have sworn he heard the blond grinding his molars as he spoke. “It is the only way to do so.”

“I’m not marrying your mother or your aunt,” Harry snapped, blushing furiously at the very thought.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco nearly shouted. “My father is still alive and my aunt is a Tonks, at the least a Black. It was a Malfoy who incurred the debt and only a Malfoy would suffice for that role.”

“Oh,” Harry said, feeling his temper drain from him quickly. As far as he knew, only Draco, Narcissa, and Lucius were left for the Malfoy line. “And if that’s not possible?”

“If it was impossible for you to be married into the family, I would be bound to assist you in finding an acceptable marriage contract, one that not only honours my family, but also honours the Potters and the Blacks, since you are the heir my mother’s cousin chose for the Black line.”

“Right, so let me get this straight. Either I have to marry you or you have to find the ‘right kind’ of woman to marry me to?”

“You are close to the truth,” Draco said, running a hand through his hair in a move Harry recognized as something he himself did frequently when frustrated. “It doesn’t have to be right away, and you have every right to tell me to go to hell, or whatever you wish, but I am still honour-bound to assist you. The magic will see to it.”

“Do I have _any_ say in this?” Harry asked. He was beginning to feel trapped by circumstances yet again. “Or do I just have to let things keep happening to me?”

“As I said, Harry, you have all the power here, but no matter what you decide, I am still bound to assist you.”

“So, basically, you’re being forced to either marry me or to help me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, you moron,” Draco snapped. “I could refuse, but then I would lose the magic in my family home. It is a debt of honour on the family name. Should I be unable to fulfil my obligation, the magic will judge accordingly. I have no control over the punishment it chooses either.” The blond sighed and his eyes grew soft. “I don’t find the thought of being assistance to you repugnant, Harry, but I also do not wish to have the magic stripped from my family line if you refuse this.”

A lump gathered in Harry’s throat, making it difficult to breathe. “Can I… can I think about this?”

“Take all the time you need,” Draco whispered. “I believe I will go to bed. Crimmy can show you back to your room.” The blond stood and gave Harry a sad smile. “Good night, Harry.”

“Night, Draco,” he responded automatically. He didn’t hear when the other man left over the thoughts churning over and over in his brain. _‘What do I want?’_

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco waited until he was in the safety of his room, behind the strongest Locking and Silencing charms he knew, before he broke down. _‘I knew it was too good to be true. I_ had _to tell him, but he doesn’t have to accept it. He can refuse and condemn my family to a line of Squibs if he wishes it.’_ A single tear tracked down his face as he fell forward into the many pillows of his bed. _‘How could I have been so incredibly_ wrong _?’_

TBC


	15. A Time For Thought and a Time For Action

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

 

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! I have to say special thanks go to Jokes for stepping in and helping me to get this looking so pretty! You rock my socks!

** Chapter Fifteen – A Time for Thought and a Time for Action **

Of course, that night Draco dreamed for the first time in nearly three years. And it wasn’t surprising that the focal point of his dream was Harry Potter. In a sick, pathetic sort of way, it made sense. If Draco was honest with himself, his first wet dream at the tender age of twelve had involved a male who looked unsurprisingly like Potter. So, perhaps he’d been denying that attraction while they were schoolmates, but the way the other man’s face had looked before they started their chess game and conversation the night before had opened up something inside him.

When the sunlight struck his face in the morning, the blond was forced to hold in a sigh. While he was aware of what –or whom– he’d dreamt of the night before, it didn’t mean that his sleep had been restful. So, he cracked his eyes open slowly, not really looking forward to the day ahead. Granger was coming over after breakfast, and he had Harry to deal with. Merlin, he didn’t want to get up.

“Master Draco, Mistress Narcissa is asking you to be coming with Manky to her rooms now,” Manky, Narcissa’s personal elf, said in her high-pitched voice.

“Did she say what she wanted, Manky?” he asked, sitting up to lean against the many pillows on his bed.

“No, Master Draco, Mistress is only telling Manky to be asking you to her rooms,” she answered, pulling on her overly large ears with a look of utter despair on her face.

“It’s fine, Manky. Tell Mother I shall be there in a few minutes, and find Dippy now.”

“Yes, Master Draco,” the elf answered promptly, before Disapparating quietly. Before Draco had gotten completely out of bed, Dippy was standing before him.

“How is Dippy to be helping Master Draco?” his personal house-elf asked, curtseying politely.

“Dippy, I need you to pick out acceptable robes for today while I take a shower. When you are done with that, I wish for you to find Harry and ask him to meet me in the breakfast room.”

“Yes, Master Draco,” the elf squeaked before running over to his wardrobe. As he headed for his en-suite bathroom, Draco realised how long of a day it was going to be if he was already tired. He could only hope that his mother would forgive him for his delaying tactics.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry looked up as he heard his best friend come through the door of the parlour he was currently ensconced in. “Hey, Hermione,” he said, trying for friendly and feeling that he’d missed the mark by a mile. The frown on her face let him know that she wasn’t fooled. “How was it, being back home with your parents?”

“It’s strange, but Mum and Dad are going to go down to their old practice to see how things are. Their accounts and everything are in order with Barclays’, so I don’t foresee any issues with opening back up. It’s just getting their patients to return that might be the tricky part,” Hermione answered, allowing him to relax in her presence a little. It was nice to talk about normal, regular things, even the reopening of her parents’ dental practice. “So, are you going to tell me what happened between you and Malfoy last night? I was sure that he’d be here with you when I returned.”

“’Mione, what did you and Narcissa talk about yesterday when Draco was showing me upstairs?” He watched as his friend’s teasing smile dropped quickly and knew he was onto something.

“She told me about the debt of honour that Malfoy owes you,” she answered carefully, appearing to weigh every word before it came out of her mouth, unlike Ron.

Harry frowned as he thought about his other supposed best friend. Nothing good was coming to mind, and he knew that things were going to get bad when Ron found out about Bill coming over to the Manor to help Lucius Malfoy, especially if Fleur _and_ Hermione were over here as well. He was forced to admit that everything was getting to be a bit much right then and he desperately wanted to go back to bed. “Stop frowning; you’ll get more lines before your time. Look, Harry, I told her that you wouldn’t take well to having your life dictated to you again. Did he fully explain it to you?”

“He told me that he has to shelter me here,” he answered morosely. “I knew he didn’t really want to do it when the offer was made, but I didn’t know that he _had_ to allow me to stay with him while I needed it.”

“Oh, Harry, are you really hung up on that?” She gave him a sad smile. “I know how you feel about him. Of course I do, when we’ve already discussed that, but that’s not the only reason he allowed his mother to offer the invitation.”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s something that he should tell you, preferably when he’s worked it out himself.” He decided to let her dodge answering him totally, realising that he wasn’t going to get much else from his friend on that topic. “Has he told you the other part?”

“You mean where he either has to marry me or help me find some bird or bloke to marry that won’t embarrass three old pureblood families, or his family will lose all the magic and honour the Malfoys possess? Yes, he has. So, I either have to consider marrying a person I’m not sure still doesn’t hate me or some person I hardly know, or I force Draco and Narcissa into being Squibs.”

“Is that what you got from the entire situation?”

“Isn’t that all there is to consider, Hermione?” he asked. His voice rose with every word. “I’m not sure what else there is for me to get from it! I don’t know how he feels, and I don’t want to be forced into some horrible, loveless arranged marriage like he nearly had with one of the Greengrass girls!”

“I know you fancy him, but did he tell you that you had to make up your mind right away?”

“No, he said that I could take all the time that I needed and wanted, but that he had to offer assistance or suffer the consequences. I didn’t speak up for his family just to get them out of Azkaban so they can become Squibs. That would be horribly cruel!”

“I hate to say this, as he used to be the worse prat alive, but it sounds as if he’s been rather reasonable about his part to play in all of this,” Hermione answered, tugging on a few strands of her frizzy hair in obvious frustration. “Let’s look at this objectively, shall we? You’re a guest in his home. It doesn’t really matter how you came to be a guest –you are now. He’s already fulfilled one condition of the debt.”

“All right, I’ll give you that,” he said, crossing his arms against his chest. He still had a headache from sleeping ill. Not even the Headache Remedy that Draco had been so kind to get for him had done anything but take the edge of the migraine away. “What should I do about the second part of the debt?”

“To be honest, I think if he had a say, he’d make you a Malfoy,” she said with a small smile. “Why let someone else have the honour of being your spouse when he can keep that all to himself, hm?”

“So, instead of being some pawn in a war between old men, I’m now some piece of arse to fight over?”

“Oh, really, Harry, you’re just being stupid now,” Hermione said heatedly. “Has he given you your potions yet?”

“No, he said he had to get some ingredients for them, so he hasn’t had a chance to begin brewing any of them.”

“Well, it’s lucky for him that I managed to convince Madame Pomfrey to give me a few from Professor Slughorn’s additions to her stock, now isn’t it?” She gave him a sly smile as she dug through her handy evening bag that she’d expanded for their Horcrux hunt. “Here we are,” she shouted gleefully as she held up three potion vials. “Take the Strengthening Potion first. Otherwise, you’ll sick up, and they’ll do you no good that way.”

Harry nodded, drank the potion and made a face at the taste. “No one has yet to tell me why all potions, aside from Pepper-Ups, taste so disgusting. I used to think it was just Snape’s way of getting back at having to brew potions for ungrateful students, but now I’m starting to reconsider.”

Hermione laughed, handing him the second, which he eyed warily. Its orange colour was very unsettling. “That’s the Organ Regenerator. It should help repair the damage to your liver and kidneys.” He hastily drank it, pulling yet another face when he’d finished it. “And this third is the modified Draught of Peace that Healer Sharpe recommended.” She gave him the opalescent potion and he sniffed it warily. “I know that it smells like nothing, but Poppy told me that it tastes like vanilla cordial.”

“She’s Poppy now, is she?” Harry teased, taking the last potion and nodding. “Ah, yes, it does, and probably a good idea to take that last. All I can taste is vanilla and cinnamon, which is better than the taste of Ron’s socks that the others reminded me of.”

His friend laughed, sitting back comfortably in the chaise across from his couch. “I’ve brought you a few more days’ worth, so that should help Malfoy until he gets things set up to brew properly.”

Harry, feeling at ease finally, sat back against the couch and smiled. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

“So, have you heard from Bill and Fleur again since yesterday?”

“Yeah, they’ll be coming after lunch today to take the Wizard’s Oaths and get a feel for Narcissa and Draco,” he said. “Narcissa told Draco that Healer Jacobi is coming today to get Lucius settled and then he wants to talk to me.”

“That might be a good idea,” Hermione mused. “I _did_ talk to Poppy about Healer Jacobi, you know, checking up on his character and the like. She said that he’s a very respected, but selective family Healer. He’s worked with the Malfoy family since Abraxas Malfoy.”

“So, he’s loyal to the family?”

“That’s what I got from it. That means you don’t have to worry about what you say to him. He’s not going to betray your trust, seeing as you’re practically a Malfoy already.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco took a deep breath as he moved away from the door of the parlour where Harry and Granger continued chatting. He’d worried about the other man since meeting him at breakfast. Harry had been unusually quiet and refused to look at him. He knew that telling Harry about the details of the debt of honour had been the right thing to do and that the sooner he did it, the better off they’d all be all around, but that didn’t mean that it made their already complicated relationship any easier to deal with.

After hearing the way that Granger handled the other man just as well as Harry had handled her at the hospital, Draco felt a little better about the way things would go. Her reluctant compliment had brought a brief flush to his face, but he had been forced to admire her insight regarding the situation. And Harry’s passionate outburst about feelings gave Draco a little food for thought.

 _There is something going on between the two of us that we cannot ignore,_ he mused to himself. _Besides that, Granger is right that I would rather have Harry as my spouse than to give him away to some stupid, undeserving person. There’s no one good enough to honour all three houses better than a match between us._ Draco smiled as he remembered the conversation he had with his mother the other day. _I wonder if I could convince him just on the fact that a match between our families has been made in similar circumstances a few generations back…_

He was surprised when the door opened and he was face to face with the bushy-haired witch. “I should have known you’d be eavesdropping,” she said flatly.

“It is my home, Granger, and I may be wherever I wish,” he responded in kind.

“Of course, Malfoy.” He could feel her brown eyes boring holes into his head as they stood before one another. “If it’s any consolation to you, he just needs some time to process everything, but he’s not going to let anything bad happen to your family.”

“I never thought he would,” Draco snarled.

“There’s no need to get nasty with me,” she snapped back furiously. “In fact, I would think that you’d be more inclined to be nicer to me, since I’m trying to help your pointy arse.”

“I’ll have you know that my arse is not-”

She held up a hand to cut him off. “Please, don’t finish that sentence.” She gave a great sigh. “Look, Malfoy, you need my help, and I’m willing to give it. Not only because I think you need it, which you do, but because I think that this will be good for Harry. Now, as you probably heard, I brought over a few days’ worth of potions for Harry, but I don’t know what your father will be taking, and I’m sure that Healer Jacobi would be better equipped to issue his potions in any case. When do you think you’ll be able to brew up fresher doses?”

“I’ll be starting tomorrow, if everything goes well today,” he said, mulling over what she’d said. “I’ve sent Dippy to get some of the supplies, and when Mother has Father settled in, I shall be able to get the rest of the ingredients. After that, we can begin brewing.”

“Why don’t you just make up a list of what you’re missing and I’ll go get them after Bill and Fleur leave? That way, when I return, we can start brewing everything in one go. I’m sure that that will be more convenient all around.”

He paused in thought, looking at the girl appreciatively. Evidently, in the year and a half since he’d really been at school with her, he’d forgotten about her unwavering loyalty to logic somehow. “Actually, that’s a good idea, Granger. Besides, it allows you to leave the Manor a bit more.”

She blushed a bit. “Well, there is that,” she said. “Now, where is your lab?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa let out a long sigh as she and Healer Jacobi maneuvered the unconscious body of her husband past the gates of the Manor and up the large gravel walk. The fight she’d just come from had made her very tired. Evidently, Healer Mindwillow was “unsure” that Lucius would be safe for transporting back to his home while he was under the miscast spell’s effects. However, Jacobi had lived up to his reputation by saying that Lucius would be safer at home, with people who cared about him, than in a cold hospital where the Healers worried more about their names than doing their jobs.

It had taken both Narcissa _and_ Healer Jacobi speaking to the floor’s head Healer to get their case heard and Mindwillow’s decision overturned. While they’d been waiting for Healer Coletrain to fill out the paperwork, Narcissa had returned to the Manor to tell Draco what was going on and to see what had happened the night before between her son and Harry. Healer Jacobi had offered to stay at the hospital while she did so, and the Malfoy matriarch’s opinion of the Healer had risen to greater heights.

“Narcissa,” Jacobi said as they made the long trek up the drive to the Manor’s front doors, “I want to do a full scan of Lucius when we have him settled. I attempted to do so at St. Mungo’s, but Healer Mindwillow was adamant about his care being the best that he could receive at the hospital.”

“Do you think that something may have happened to Lucius while we were away?” she asked.

“It is possible, as much as I hate speaking ill of those in my profession.”

“Healer Sharpe as already told Draco that she thinks Healer Mindwillow is less than satisfactory at his position.”

“Yes, well, that’s putting it mildly.” The Healer ran a hand through his short brown hair as they stopped in front of the door. “You’ll agree to it then?”

“Whatever you need to do to make my husband well again, do it, Jacobi.” As they entered the Manor, they were greeted by the sight of Draco discussing something with Hermione Granger just outside one of the parlours. “Draco, is there something wrong?”

“No, Mother, there’s nothing wrong. I was just going to show Granger to my potions lab,” her son said carefully, eyeing the still form of his father. “It can wait, of course, if you need me.”

“No, Draco, continue as you were.” Narcissa waved a negligible hand in the direction of the two teenagers. “How is Harry this afternoon?”

“Confused,” Hermione said quietly. Narcissa turned her blue eyes to pin the girl to the spot. “He’s not sure how to take all the information that’s been dumped on him lately.”

“And how are you two dealing with this?”

“I’ve explained that Harry needs time to process what’s going on before he can make a decision that will affect the rest of his life to Draco, and we were going to begin working on the potions prescribed to him,” Hermione offered.

“Hm, yes, I think that that is the best we can do for now,” Narcissa said, feeling extremely tired of everything.

“May I see the prescriptions given to Mr. Potter at the hospital, young Draco?” Jacobi asked, stepping forward.

“Of course, Jacobi,” Draco said, searching through his robes. He frowned and looked over at the girl. “I think I’ve left them in my lab. Granger, would you be willing to stay with Harry while Jacobi and I go to get them? I’ll take you there later.”

“Certainly, Draco,” the girl said with an uncertain smile. “As if you had to ask me.”

Just as Draco and Jacobi started to climb up the stairs to the second floor, a knock sounded on the front door. Dippy answered the door before turning around to face the group in the foyer. “Master Draco, there be a Mister and Missus Wheezy here for you.”

“Bill and Fleur,” Hermione said with a gasp. “I didn’t think they’d be so early.”

“Bugger all,” Draco muttered, drawing Narcissa’s attention to him. When she levelled him with a cool stare, the tips of his ears turned a bright red. “Sorry, Mother, I just wasn’t expecting them at this time.”

“That is no excuse to use vulgar language, Draco,” Narcissa said coldly. “Jacobi, please escort Lucius up to his room. We shall all convene upstairs once we’re available.”

“Of course, Narcissa,” the Healer said, before following Manky and Tizzy upstairs with his patient.

“Now, Draco, you and Hermione shall go and greet our guests.”

“What are you going to do, Mother?” Draco asked, still blushing from the chastising he’d received.

“Why, darling, I am going to be in the parlour with Harry. Now, off you go.” When the two teens headed towards the door, she went into the room they’d been leaving when she returned home. She found Harry curled up on the window seat, staring out at the stormy weather. “Hello, Harry.”

He spun around quickly, trying to bury the look of utter despair he’d been wearing. Narcissa chose to ignore it as she took a seat near the young man. “Um, hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” he whispered hoarsely. If she didn’t know any better, she would have said that the boy had been crying, but that couldn’t be the case. This was the same boy that had walked proudly up to the Dark Lord and offered himself up to protect his friends, family, and even his enemies from the maniac.

“I am assuming that you are still thinking over what Draco told you last night,” she said, choosing to put aside her suspicions for later.

“Yes,” he answered in a dead voice.

“Harry, whatever you decide, the world shall still respect you, and you are not responsible for what happens to Draco, Lucius and I.”

“Except that I am,” he continued in that dead voice she knew she’d come to hate if forced to listen to it much longer. “If I refuse Draco’s help, you’ll all be Squibs.”

“That is not yours to worry about,” she said gently, taking the distraught teen’s hand in her own small, cool grasp. “I want you to think about what I am about to say, and then we shall drop the conversation for now, as I am certain that you’ve been thinking about nothing else since last night. When Draco spoke to you last night, how did you feel? Were you resentful for more magical interference in your life? Or did you feel angry about the fact that you and Draco seemed to have no choice in the matter?” He opened his mouth and she gave him a slight smile. “I do not want you to answer me right now. I just wish for you to think about your answer. We can discuss this tomorrow, if you would like; however, Dippy has alerted the house to the fact that Mr. Weasley and his wife have arrived.”

The door opened up to reveal Draco peeking around the corner. “Mother, Weasley is insisting that I show him Harry right away. He seems to think we’re hiding him from the world.”

“Harry, do you feel up to seeing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?” Narcissa asked gently.

“Of course,” he answered, sounding stronger now than he had previously.

_Yes, Harry, take your time and think about what I’ve said. I know that you shall make the right decision after you have time to really consider what you find distasteful about the entire situation. And when the time is right, Draco shall have what he truly wants._

TBC


	16. Home-grown Healers

Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! I have to say special thanks go to Jokes for stepping in and helping me to get this looking so pretty! You rock my socks!

** Chapter Sixteen — Home-grown Healers **

When Bill and Fleur entered the parlour behind Draco and Hermione, Harry felt as if he’d been hit in the stomach. Tears began to well up in his eyes and his throat tightened up painfully. When Fleur’s pretty aqua eyes settled on him, her smile died on her face and she ran across the room, taking his head in her hands and staring at him. “Oh, ‘Arry, I ‘ave been so worreed about you. ‘Ow ‘ave you been? Why do you look like you weel cry?”

“Fleur, honey, let Harry breathe,” Bill said, tugging gently on the part-Veela’s arm. “Hey, Harry, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Hey, Bill,” Harry managed to say around the lump in his throat. “I’m glad that you decided to come here to the Manor.”

Bill looked over at both Malfoys and his smile dropped a few centimetres before he turned back to Harry. “Yeah, well, that’s a conversation for another time. I really wanted to see how you were, and once Fleur heard she’d been invited, it was a done deal. She refused to let me leave without her.”

“I was not letting you leef me at ‘ome while you went to see ‘Arry, Bill,” Fleur huffed, pushing Harry over so she could sit next to him on the window seat. The woman’s warmth and continued kindness made Harry’s mood lighten. He could even see Hermione and Draco smirking at him from their position behind Bill. Narcissa even seemed amused by the whole situation.

“Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” Narcissa said when Fleur was happily ensconced next to Harry. “Welcome to Malfoy Manor. I trust that you are doing well?”

“We’re fine, really, Mrs. Malfoy,” Bill said, obviously trying to mind his manners around the aristocratic blonde woman.

“I shall call Tizzy for tea, if you would like to discuss why you are here,” she said, ringing a bell that she pulled out of the pocket of her robes. Before long, the six of them were sitting around the lovely table in the middle of the room, each person having been served directly by Narcissa Malfoy herself. “I understand you have reservations about helping us with Lucius, Mr. Weasley.”

“That would be putting it nicely, Mrs. Malfoy,” Bill said, staring at a spot behind her.

“’E ‘as tried to teel me about zhis feud between zhe families,” Fleur said politely, giving both Draco and Narcissa a smile. “I admeet zhat I am confused on ‘ow it started.”

“I’m sure that each family has their own idea how the feud began,” Narcissa said, cutting off Draco before he could begin spouting off whatever rhetoric Lucius had drilled into his head. “That is not the point at this time. What I would like to do is secure your husband’s services to cure my own.”

“It was Harry’s idea that we use the Wizard’s Oath to end the feud between our families,” Draco said, frowning at his mother’s action.

 _I wish he wouldn’t do that,_ Harry thought absentmindedly. _He looks so much better when he smiles. Like last night, when we were talking, before he mentioned that bloody debt. I wanted so desperately to–_

“Really, Harry? That’s almost brilliant,” Hermione gushed, dragging Harry’s attention back to their conversation.

“Um, yeah, well, Bill’s the Weasley heir, such as it is, and Draco is definitely the Malfoy heir… And I just thought that we could use this as an opportunity to… I dunno, make things better? Bury the hatchet, and not in someone’s skull.”

“Since Lucius isn’t capable of making the decision about this, and I’m sure I could talk to Dad about it after it’s all said and done,” Bill said slowly, “what Draco and I decide would have to be followed by both sides.”

“That _is_ true,” Narcissa said calmly. “There are complications, of course.”

“You mean Ron,” Bill stated flatly. There was no use from either family to deny that Ron would be the most affronted Weasley at any sort of truce between the two pureblood lines.

“He _is_ a concern at this point in time,” Hermione said coolly. “Your brother isn’t really rational whenever the Malfoys are brought up in conversation.”

“My brozher-in-law is not zhe most rational person on a good day, sadly,” Fleur said before taking a sip of her tea. “I love ‘im, of course; ‘e is family. Zhere is not much zhat we can do to change ‘is mind.”

Harry snorted into his cup before taking his own sip. Fleur was being nice about the whole Ron situation. Her brother-in-law was a right git when it came to anything to do with something he didn’t like. He muttered under his breath, “No one can change Ron’s mind if he doesn’t want it. Stubborn prat.”

“Look, I’m not going to defend Ron’s behaviour, or George’s either,” Bill said, either ignoring Harry or he genuinely hadn’t heard him. “They’ve got their reasons for feeling the way that they do, and they’re entitled to feel that way. I’m not saying that they’re right, in the grand scheme of things. I just want everyone to know that I don’t begrudge them for their feelings. I want our families to stop fighting, however. It would go a long way if Lucius would apologize for nearly getting Ginny killed her first year at Hogwarts. I know that’s not going to happen now, but some sort of consideration would be nice.”

“Mr. Weasley, you and your family have my deepest sympathies and regret for Lucius giving your sister that diary,” Narcissa said warmly. “I doubt he really had any idea of what it was or what it would do. There was no indication that it was anything but a toy the Dark Lord had left in his care, and he wished to have your father investigated for having Dark Artefacts to stop the raids the Ministry insisted on having on the Manor.”

“Well, I guess that he just proved that they didn’t search hard enough, now didn’t he?” Bill asked, obviously angry at the lack of what he considered true remorse on the Malfoy matriarch’s part.

Harry looked over at Draco, and noticed that the blond was quiet, too quiet, and his lips were pulled into one long, white line. Two spots of colour were dusting his pale cheeks and his grey eyes were shiny with palpable anger. _He’s going to explode if we don’t get this conversation moving into a different direction and fast._ “Look, Bill, Narcissa and Draco can’t apologize for something Lucius is ultimately responsible for. It wouldn’t make sense. They’re not asking for any apologies for slights given to them by your family, and I don’t think it’s fair that you do the same, no matter what the offense is.”

“You’re right, Harry,” Bill said, flushing in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“No offence taken, Mr. Weasley,” she answered with a regal nod of her blonde head. “Now, we’ve returned to the crux of the situation. Would you be willing to reverse the miscast spell on my husband?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It took an hour for the negotiations for Weasley’s contract to complete, and by the end, Draco could see that Harry had checked out of the conversation. The dark-haired wizard wore such a look of quiet contemplation that if Draco hadn’t seen him with the same expression on his face back at Hogwarts, he wouldn’t have recognised it. Sadly, he was familiar with that look when it came to Harry fighting with the Weasel. _No, Ron Weasley,_ he told himself. _If Harry wants me to bury the whole Weasel/Ferret argument, I had better try to do it in my mind as well._

“What are you thinking about, Malfoy?” Granger whispered as she leaned in closer to Draco.

“Truthfully, Granger, I’m thinking about your boyfriend,” he replied. He knew that he sounded just bored enough that it would pique her interest.

“Whatever for?” she asked, obviously shocked. If Draco hadn’t been so absorbed in his thoughts about Harry and the Weasley family, he might have taken enjoyment at the gobsmacked look on her face.

“Our mutual friend is thinking about him.”

Granger looked over at Harry and sighed. “He is. I wonder if he’s trying to figure out how soon it’s going to take Ron to hear about Bill and Fleur being here before he reacts.”

“Oh joy,” Draco groaned. “What is your opinion?”

“Truthfully, he’ll be here as soon as he finds out,” Granger answered promptly. “And he’ll be angry.”

“He’s always angry nowadays, isn’t he?” The blond turned over to look at the bushy-haired girl at his side. “That’s what I’ve gathered from talking to the two of you.”

“Harry’s told you what happened between him and the Weasleys then, hm?”

“Yes, and if I hadn’t had such a low opinion of them already, that conversation would have done the trick.”

“Look, Malfoy, I’m not best pleased with Ron myself right now, but Harry helped along the entire situation. He hasn’t yet told one person in the entire Weasley family _why_ he wanted his space, and so they don’t understand.”

“Granger, the simple fact is that I don’t like Weasley. He doesn’t like me either.” Here, Draco affected an air of boredom by yawning theatrically. “That’s not the point, however. Harry and Weasley, and even the Weaslette to some extent, are what has become an issue. It is obvious that his rift with the Weasel has made him upset. The truth is that I doubt he will actually talk to me about what’s happened.”

“What _has_ he told you, Malfoy?”

“That Weasley turned on him the second he thought Harry had overlooked his family, yet again, by testifying at the trials. That he felt pressured by Mrs. Weasley and the Weaslette to re-establish their former relationship and move it into marriage, quickly. That the grief he felt over the deaths of Professor Lupin, my cousin, the Weasley twin and the others was seen as false and he was simply told by others to “ _get over it_ ”. That Percy Weasley took great pains to make sure that Harry knew that he was _not_ a real member of the family and that he wasn’t welcomed by everyone.” Draco glared at the girl before him harshly. “He has told me enough to make my former contempt for the family just for being poor seem like great love. I didn’t think it was possible to think less of your boyfriend, but it appears that I was wrong.”

“He’s told you more than I thought he would in such a short amount of time,” Hermione mused as she ran a hand through her bushy curls.

“However, I am left wondering why, as you have been by his side for nearly every second that I’ve known the three of you in the Golden Trio, where you were when all this was going on? I’ve heard that you went to Australia soon after the trials, leaving him to Weasley’s mercy,” he whispered contemptuously.

“Yes,” she hissed, staring at him as if he was a bug. “I was in Australia, trying to remove the Memory Charms on my parents that I placed on them before seventh year for their own protection. They didn’t even _know_ that they were English or that they had a daughter for _months_ , nearly a whole year. You’re not the only one who had to do questionable things to protect their loved ones, Malfoy.” The force of the girl’s words was so strong that Draco felt as if he’d been smacked with them. He almost wished for the physical blow. At least then, he’d be able to justify the humiliated blush that stole over his face as Granger stomped over to Harry’s side.

No one seemed to notice their argument, as they were all absorbed in their silly dance of polite words and meaningless nothings. No one, except the owners of the greenest set of eyes Draco had ever met. _God, Potter will be the end of me, I believe,_ he thought hotly. _If it’s not his infuriating refusal to die, it’s his bloody ability to distract me beyond all else. I’m doomed._

However, the discussion with Granger was another piece of the puzzle about the three Gryffindors that he had to put into place, but the whole picture was taking a long time to form, as it appeared he was still missing information. That did not keep him from trying to gather what he did have into something that made sense. Evidently, the rift that ripped Harry and Weasley apart during the Tri-Wizard Tournament back in fourth year had never fully healed, on either side. Weasley still resented Harry for his fame. And Harry still hated Weasley’s unfounded jealousy. It was a situation that Draco would have loved to have had to exploit back at school. Now, it just made him tired.

No wonder Harry was so angry. He couldn’t imagine how weary of the entire situation that his new _friend_ felt. It must have been extremely overpowering, especially if one considered what the three Gryffindors had endured during their time spent hunting down Voldemort’s defeat.

He could feel a familiar stare burning into his head, and Draco looked up to find shiny, green eyes staring at him intently. Suddenly, his mouth grew dry and he found it difficult to hear what anyone else in the room was saying over the pounding in his chest. A hand on his arm broke the connection, forcing him to stare at his mother in confusion. “What was that, Mother?” he asked, grimacing at the raspy quality of his voice.

“I was asking if you were ready to begin the Wizard’s Oath, darling,” Narcissa said coolly, only her eyes showing her true concern.

“No, not just this second,” he answered, standing up and moving away from his seat. “I promised Granger that I would show her to my lab. Besides, I believe that Harry would like to speak to the Weasleys privately.”

“Hm, yes, that might be wise,” Narcissa said, standing from her own seat. “I shall go check on your father and Jacobi in the meantime.” She brushed her soft lips against his cheek. “Do come and find me when you are ready.”

“Of course, Mother,” Draco said, watching as both Harry and Bill Weasley stood before his mother left the room. “Granger, if you would be so kind.” He held out his arm for her, determined _not_ to shudder as she took it. Granger was a perfectly lovely woman, and she’d shown that she had manners that weren’t completely plebeian. Draco _would_ prove to Harry and the eldest Weasley sibling that he had outgrown his father’s bigoted teachings. Or, at least, show that he _could_ outgrow them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa wasn’t sure if she should be _very_ angry or cry when Jacobi delivered his professional opinion about Lucius’s condition. “Please repeat that for me, Jacobi. I will need precise details when I speak to Draco and Mr. Weasley,” she said wearily.

“As well as the miscast Bedazzling Hex that the Aurors and Mindwillow discovered on Lucius, he’s also been graced with a horribly distorted _Confundus_ , Narcissa,” the Healer said drily.

“What are the effects to be after this whole thing is cleared up?”

“To be honest, I have no idea if it will _ever_ be cleared up completely,” Jacobi said, sitting in the chair next to his patient with a look of complete and total outrage on his face. “I _knew_ that Mindwillow was being overly evasive while we were there.”

“What effects, Jacobi?” she asked harshly, pushing her fear down as far as she possibly could. Fear would not help her now.

“Optimistically speaking, there could be no side effects from this development.”

“You don’t believe that,” she said calmly.

“No, I’ll be honest with you, Narcissa. With the way the Magical Backlash has already affected Lucius physically by eating away at his memory centres, this can only do more harm. A _Confundus_ , as you know, distorts the victims perception of what is reality. To someone is Lucius’s state, I worry about what we will see.”

“Worst case scenario, Healer?” She _could_ hear this. She _would_ listen to what Healer Jacobi had to say. She owed her husband of twenty-five years at least that much, surely. “Say that we heal Lucius of the two spells. What should we expect to see?”

“In all truth, I can only hypothesise that he would revert back to when he was active with the Dark Lord,” Narcissa nearly sobbed then, but Jacobi continued, “the first time.”

“Oh, dear Merlin,” she whispered. Her plans for Draco’s happiness might all fall to pieces with this news. Not to mention the danger to Harry. _If I am forced to make a decision in this matter, it will not bode well for someone I love._ “And if we do nothing?”

“Narcissa, surely you aren’t suggesting that we–”

“And if we _do nothing_?” she asked again with more force.

“If we leave Lucius as he is, the combined spells will painfully start to leech his remaining magic, causing him to slowly become a Squib in the most painful way imaginable. He would go completely insane before the Magical Backlash took all of his memories. It would be necessary for him to be sent to the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s permanently, or you would have to open up the North Tower of the Manor.”

 _Wonderful,_ she thought hatefully. _As if I didn’t have enough on my plate with those two boys running around, being ignorant fools._ “When does the decision need to be made?”

“Before we allow Mr. Weasley access to Lucius, of course.” The Healer ran a hand through his lank hair and Narcissa felt a pang of sympathy for the man.

 _It must not have been easy to work for both Lucius_ and _Abraxas while delivering bad news. I fear that I must spare him the ill-placed wrath of my son._ Narcissa stood up straight before she steeled herself for what was necessary. “I will explain the situation to Draco, Reginald,” she said gently, using the name’s first name for the first time in years. “Call one of the elves if you require something before I return. I shall have Manky deliver you some tea while you wait.”

“Thank you, Narcissa,” the plump man said, nearly slumping down into the chair next to Lucius’s bed.

“Needs must,” she whispered to herself before going off in search of her beloved child.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry nearly laughed as he watched the Malfoys vacate their own parlour to allow him time to catch up with Bill and Fleur. Nearly, because a part of him still wanted to weep at the situation he found himself in. He’d listened and tried to digest everything that Hermione and Narcissa had said to him over the course of the day about why he felt the way he did, but  if even what they’d said was true… No, he couldn’t hope like that. He would _not_ assume something about other people again. The last time he’d done that, Snape had died as an enemy. Really, nothing he wanted to repeat again, and definitely not with the infuriating blond.

Things with Draco would proceed as they would. Nothing that anyone said or did would change that.

However, the fact that he had to keep repeating that to himself as he watched the former Slytherin leave the parlour with Hermione on his arm stung something awful.

“Harry?” Bill said, grabbing the black-haired wizard’s attention between bouts of yelling at himself mentally. It was obviously not the first time he’d called Harry’s name, if the look of worry in the older man’s face was anything to go by.

“Hm?”

“How did you end up here?” the redhead said, waving his arm around the beyond opulent room they sat in with Fleur.

“Have you heard of a debt of honour?” Harry asked offhandedly. Really, who better to ask than Bill and Fleur if he still wasn’t sure about the whole ordeal?

“Of course, it’s really Old Magic, only called into play when something drastic has happened to a family and an individual,” Bill answered, obviously confused as to where this conversation was going.

“It is very rare, if I remember, _non_?” Fleur added, her accent getting lighter as her concentration became focused upon something. “I zhink zhat zhere ‘as only been one instance of it being used in my family.”

“What happened?” Harry asked; his interest was piqued with this bit of information.

“It was between one of my ‘uman ancestors and a ‘alf-Veela,” Fleur said. “On my fahzher’s side, of course, many centuries ago. Of course, zhe man owned the debt wanted zhe beeootiful woman to be ‘is wife. Zhey were verry ‘appy after zhe wedding. Many powerful _enfants_ came from zhe union.”

“Typical,” Harry muttered. “Is it always the case that the person owned the assistance marries into the family of the debt?”

“Not that I can recall,” Bill answered this time. “However, there are benefits of keeping magic that strong within the two families on either side of that kind of debt. Any children of the union tend to be much more powerful magically, as Fleur mentioned in her own family’s history.” Bill’s sharp blue eyes looked Harry up and down until he felt naked. “You don’t owe a debt like that, do you, Harry?”

“No, of course not,” Harry answered, feeling annoyed. “Malfoy owes me two life debts and his dad owes me one as well. Since Lucius is pretty much _mensus non capus_ , Draco’s head of the family now.”

“Oh, yes, zhat would fall under zhe boundaries of zhe debt of ‘onour,” Fleur murmured. “Zhat is why you are ‘ere, yes?”

“Yes, partially,” Harry said, his annoyance draining away almost instantly, leaving him a little listless. “I was being hounded by reporters, and _other_ people, at the hospital, so Narcissa and Draco offered me shelter here at Malfoy Manor until I was ready to face the world again.”

“I’d ask what’s in it for them, but if Malfoy owes you a debt of honour, I already know the answer,” Bill said. “How’d Hermione get dragged into this mess then?”

“Ron wrote to her in Australia about my behaviour towards him and Ginny. I guess he was hoping she’d come back and guilt me into returning to the fold. When it didn’t work, he accused her and me of having an affair behind his back during the year we were out searching for those artefacts of Voldemort’s. That’s the last I’ve heard about your brother, to be honest.”

“You’re joking, yeah?”

“I wish,” Harry muttered. “Look, Bill, he’s your brother, and nothing’s going to change that, but I’d rather not talk about him.”

“Harry, I’ve been looking into that Magical Backlash theory that’s been going around since the Battle of Hogwarts,” Bill said, taking Fleur’s nearest hand in his own as if steeling himself for something unpleasant. “If I have my Muggle terms right, it’s a mixture of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, severe depression, and fevered magic.”

“Fevered magic?” Harry stared at the man who he considered like family, waiting for him to continue.

“Ah, yes, you wouldn’t have heard of that before, since it’s not really a common thing here in England. I saw it a lot in Egypt because of all the old magic lacing the pyramids and the other ancient ruins.” The Curse Breaker waited for Harry to nod in understanding before continuing. “Well, what happens is that a witch or wizard gets an overload on foreign magic and it begins battling their own, making it difficult to control and leading to accidental magic problems. From what I understand, the severity of this Magical Backlash depends on how close to the Dark Lord one was, not only physically at the Battle, but also magically.

“Since you had the strongest connection with him through your scar and shared history, you got a huge dose of it. If any of the Death Eaters that were made around the time of Lucius Malfoy’s induction to his ranks and were constantly surrounded by him as he wielded his magic in the last year of his life, they’d be just as affected as Lucius himself.”

“My Healer at St. Mungo’s tried to explain something like that to me when I was there, but she never bothered going into detail,” Harry said.

“Well, she wouldn’t, would she? It would ruin her pet theory before she’s had a chance to publish her findings.”

“She did say that being around people who evoke strong emotions or being out of the country for a bit would dispel some of the symptoms. That was why I was really grateful for the offer the Malfoys extended.”

“You are zhinking zhis is zhe case because of ‘Ermione?” Fleur asked innocently.

“That’s what Healer Sharpe suggested. Said she wanted to do some tests and talk to Hermione privately, before she insulted both me and Draco in the next breath,” Harry answered. “So, she never got to find out if she was right or not.”

“Hm, well, Jacobi’s a good sort of bloke and a decent Healer, Harry,” Bill said thoughtfully. “He works with a co-worker’s family, so I have the benefit of hearing about him from time to time. I’d suggest that while you have him at your disposal that you take the opportunity to speak to him.”

“You mean like Muggle therapy?”

“I couldn’t hurt, Harry. I might help you deal with all the trauma you’ve suffered in the last few years and before that too, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“Can we not talk about _them_? I don’t think I want Narcissa and Draco to know what happened to me before Hogwarts and during summer holidays. I don’t want their pity, and I don’t know if they could be kept under control and not murder them viciously.”

“So, you don’t totally think them beyond violence?” Bill asked archly.

“No one’s beyond violence,” Harry said flatly. “I’ve attacked Draco as much as he’s attacked me, and I used the Unforgivables during the war.”

“We all did things that were distasteful during that year, Harry,” Bill said, trying to placate the dark-haired wizard. “There are a few things I wish I could take back, really.”

“Zhis is always zhe case during war,” Fleur said brightly, giving both men a sweet smile. “Now, shall I share wizh you my good nooz?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco led Granger to his private potions lab on the second floor, allowing her to enter before him. He could almost see the room through her eyes as she looked over his equipment and stores. The room was the opposite of the Potions classroom in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The walls were of a delicate, pale cream stone, with windows taking up the outside wall from floor to ceiling. The floors were of a black volcanic rock, guaranteed to stand up to the heat of any explosions or spilled experiments. The door to the store room was open, letting them see that it was as big as the student stores of Snape’s classroom, and better stocked. In the centre of the room stood three brewing stations, all gleaming brightly as the weak winter sun reflected off the cauldrons and utensils.

“This is…brilliant, Malfoy,” she breathed as she continued to stare at the room’s contents.

“Thank you, Granger,” he said, making sure to keep the door to the rest of the Manor open. _No need for anyone to assume that I’ve brought her here to do anything…untoward._ He suppressed a shudder before stepping farther into the lab. “I had this put together after first year, with Severus’s instructions.”

“I always thought he rather fit the rooms in the dungeons at Hogwarts,” she said.

“Yes, even his home at Spinner’s End was rather dank and dark, Mother assures me.”

“It was difficult in sixth year to see him in a room with windows, such as they were. I was so used to him being in the dungeons, surrounded by darkness, that it was nearly impossible to wrap my mind around him existing outside of his regular classroom.”

The mention of their sixth year made Draco flinch. It wasn’t a time he liked to recall. Neither was seventh year, but Granger must have known that the topic wasn’t up for discussion as she moved over to the work stations.

“Malfoy, about Harry…” She licked her lips nervously as she stared hard at the prescriptions he’d left before the centre brewing station. “He’s really just very confused right now. I’m sure if you give him time, he’ll come to his decision. He needs to brood about it first.”

“Can we not discuss this, Granger?” he asked, feeling raw about the entire topic of Harry, the debt of honour, and what would happen to his family. “I’d like to take samples of the potions that Madam Pomfrey gave you so that we can go from there.” He moved over to one of the overflowing bookshelves that lined the wall opposite of the storeroom. “I have a list ready for you to take shopping as well.”

“Oh, good,” she said, taking the subtle hint for the dismissal it was. She pulled her bag out again and began taking out multiple potions. “These are the potions that Healer Sharpe assigned Harry, and you should make sure that he receives them every morning until they’re not needed.”

“I do know how these potions work, Granger,” he drawled lazily. The girl blushed and opened her mouth to say something, but a throat clearing from the doorway had both teens looking up to find Narcissa in the doorway, appearing paler than normal. “Mother, is something the matter?”

“Draco, I need to speak to you in private, if you will,” his mother said quietly, giving them a rather sickly smile that had the short hairs on the back of Draco’s neck standing on in.

“Oh, well, I’ll just take that list and go get what’s needed, shall I?” Granger rambled, snatching up the list and practically running from the room to give the two Malfoys privacy.

Finally alone, Narcissa closed the door as she entered Draco’s lab completely. “I’ve just come from speaking to Jacobi, dear, and it’s far worse than we imagined.”

“How badly?” Draco asked, trying very hard to keep his voice level and disinterested.

“There are two outcomes. We can do nothing, and Lucius would either need to be admitted to St. Mungo’s as a permanent resident or he’d be locked in the North Tower until the inevitable.”

“And the other?”

“He would be what he once was, but worse.”

 _That makes no sense. Surely if he were to return to what he once was that would be a great thing. Then I could pass along the head of family back to him and the debt of honour would disappear. Harry would be saved from this decision that he finds so obviously distasteful to his delicate Gryffindor sensibilities._ “I’m not sure what you mean, Mother. Wouldn’t that–”

“No, love, what he _once_ was, before the Dark Lord’s first defeat.” The fear in his mother’s voice was so obvious that Draco couldn’t avoid what it was she was saying.

“He would–”

“Yes.”

“But with Harry–” Draco paled at the very thought. Harry would be… _Oh, dear, sweet Merlin!_

“Exactly.” Narcissa sank into the velvet settee by one of the large windows and put a shaking hand to her forehead. “We have a decision to make, Draco. Rather, you do, as head of the Malfoy family. Do we allow him to be cured or not?”

TBC


	17. Revenge Is Spiffy

Warnings and Disclaimers found in Chapter 1.

Author’s Notes: Thanks go to my reviewers! And again, many thanks to Jokes for being completely brilliant!

** Chapter Seventeen—Revenge is Spiffy **

Draco sat in his laboratory, staring out of the large windows out onto the snow-covered grounds of Malfoy Manor, his mind a whirling mess of conflicting ideas and possible consequences of any decision that he made at that point in time regarding his father’s health. He was torn. He could have Lucius cured, thereby prolonging his life and keeping him from becoming a Squib or mad with pain. Or, he could leave him to die, unknowing that the boy who killed his former master was staying in their home, and protecting Harry Potter from any dangers that Lucius would become when missing such a significant portion of his memories of the last year or even longer.

He knew that any choice he made would be painful and it was _his_ to make. His mother had made that much plain. Oh, she’d told him that she wouldn’t blame him for anything he chose, but he knew her enough to know that what she wanted was for Lucius to live for a little longer without the debilitating pain that would come with leaving him permanently cursed. The only thing that stopped him from speaking to Bill Weasley and Jacobi right away about starting the process to relieve his father was Harry Potter. And wasn’t _that_ a big enough reason to delay his decision.

 _Who can I confide in? Mother has already proven that she will not help. I don’t dare speak to Harry about it. Severus is dead, and he would be the best to consult on this issue._ A sudden idea came to his mind and he stood up, a plan forming in his mind. He would speak to Granger. Perhaps she would have a perspective untainted by emotion. _Okay, so that might be pushing things, but at least I can trust her to_ try _and be objective._

 _If nothing else, she would understand what it would be like to make a hard decision about the well-being of a parent. I don’t doubt that_ Obliviating _her own parents was anything but difficult._ He frowned as he realised what he was thinking. _I can’t believe I am actually going to let someone who was once an enemy assist me—well, know intimate and personal family details—with this situation._

And, so, he went to find out where the bushy-haired girl had gone off to.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“You have good news?” Harry asked, watching as Bill and Fleur exchanged looks of adoration. “What’s going on?”

“Well, Harry, you’re going to be the first to find out, even before Mum and Dad, but we’re going to have a baby,” Bill said happily as he took his wife’s hand to squeeze it.

“Oh, congratulations,” the dark-haired wizard replied, feeling genuine happiness for his family. “So, um, when do you think the tyke will be born?”

“We are not positive, but zhe doctor says zhat zhe _enfant_ could be born during zhe summer,” Fleur gushed, her face absolutely glowing.

“That’s great,” Harry said. A knock on the door made the trio turn and look. “Come in.”

“Ah, Harry, Mr and Mrs Weasley,” Narcissa said from the doorway. “I’m afraid that something has occurred today that shall force us to delay the oath-taking. Unfortunately, Draco is holed up in his laboratory at the moment, or I would have had him speak to you himself. You are very welcome to stay and visit with Harry as long as you wish, however.”

“Thank you, Mrs Malfoy,” Bill said stiffly.

Harry watched the blonde woman carefully. There was something off about her. In the short time he’d been around her, he’d gotten used to seeing her eyes bright and cheerful even while her face was expressionless. Now, however, her eyes were dead. She looked like the statue he remembered from the Quidditch World Cup back before fourth year. He realised that he didn’t like that very much. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, no, Harry, there’s nothing wrong,” she said quickly. _Too quickly_ , he thought. “When you are done speaking with Mr and Mrs Weasley, I would like to speak to you. There is something that I have found in the library that I think you might find illuminating.”

“Okay,” Harry said, smiling as Narcissa waved her hand quickly and disappeared behind the door. He turned to Bill and Fleur and suddenly found that he was really exhausted. “Sorry about that.”

“I wonder what it eez zhat would cancel zhe oazh-takeeng,” Fleur muttered aloud.

“It would have to be Lucius, wouldn’t it?” Bill responded confidently. “I _know_ I’m not the only one who noticed how out of sorts she seemed. If I didn’t know better, I would have never guessed that _that_ had been Narcissa Malfoy.”

“I think you might be right,” Harry said. “And it can’t be any good, especially if Draco has made himself unavailable like this.”

“Well, if it has to do with Lucius, then I’m sure the Healer found something that might make my presence here a little redundant,” Bill said, as he ran his blue eyes over Harry’s face. “You look pretty tired, Harry, and if I know you at all, I’d say you’re running your brain in circles worrying about the whole debt issue.” The redhead gave Harry a small smile. “Don’t stress about it, Harry. You’ll figure out what to do that’s right for everyone. You’ll only help yourself to premature baldness like Dad, if you continue to brood.”

Fleur giggled prettily. “I do not zhink zhat you would be veery attracteeve like zhat, ‘Arry.”

Harry looked over at the oldest Weasley sibling and smiled faintly. “You might be right, Bill. ‘Mione’s always telling me that I don’t know how to let things go.” He turned to look at the pretty blonde woman. “And thanks, Fleur. It’s always so nice to know that you’re standing behind me to tell me that I look like shite.”

“Oh, do not be so— _comment dit-il?_ —crude, ‘Arry.” She fluttered her blue eyes at him in a semblance of mock coquettishness. “Besides, you always look veery ‘andsome to me. Gabrielle too.”

“How is your sister?” he asked, remembering the last time he’d seen the other female—at Fleur and Bill’s wedding.

“Oh, she is doing veery well, _merci._ She is coming to stay wizh us in zhe summer.”

“Well, I hope you’ll pass along the next time you talk to her that I asked about her and say hello.”

“Of course we will,” Bill said, looking at his wife. “I think since our business here has been delayed, I’m going to take my wife home to take a nap. We’re heading over to the Burrow to tell Mum and Dad tonight. You want me to say anything to them for you?”

Harry frowned in concentration. “I-I, um, hm, yes,” he said finally. “Could you tell them that I’m okay but that I don’t want to see any of them right now? Especially if Percy’s there still.”

Bill frowned but nodded nonetheless. “Alright, Harry, but Ron and Ginny aren’t really going to accept that. Gin’s still under the impression that if she waits for you that you’ll come to your senses.”

“She’s not seeing anyone still?” Harry asked, confused by this information. “No offence, Bill, but I was pretty sure that she’d move on when she realised that I wasn’t going to come running back to her. She, uh, hasn’t really been single since her fourth year.”

“Yeah, I know, and I was pretty certain that she’d find someone else in the last nine months when it became obvious, at least to us, that you two were pretty much over,” the redhead said with a large sigh.

“I zhink zhat Ginny is still veery much in love wizh you, ‘Arry,” Fleur added quietly. “It weel not be so easy to move on from your first love.” A quick exchange of soppy looks between the newlyweds made Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat.

He knew that Fleur and Bill didn’t mean it, but they were so happy and perfect together that it was nearly impossible not to be envious of their relationship. He was painfully aware that he would never have that kind of relationship with Ginny, ever—especially considering the fact that he had discovered his overwhelming attraction to Draco Malfoy. Well, no, that wasn’t really fair. He was finally being _honest_ about the sexual tension that had been churning between himself and the blond since fifth year of Hogwarts.

It _had_ taken him until the end of the war to recognise it for what it really was. It was then that he’d figured out that not only was the blond possibly gay, despite his relationship with Pansy Parkinson at school, but that Hermione had been right during sixth year—that he’d been obsessed with Malfoy, even when he was trying to date Ginny.

“Well, we’ll get out of your hair now, Harry,” Bill said, cutting into Harry’s unhappy thoughts mercifully. “You let us know when Malfoy and his mum will be ready to have us over here again to help out with Lucius and we’ll take the time.”

“Why aren’t you working right now?” Harry asked, not really thinking about how rude he sounded.

“Bill ‘as been takeen personal time to spend wizh me aftair zhe war,” Fleur answered for her husband. “I ‘ave not been veery willeen to be veery far from him since.”

The dark-haired wizard nodded, taking the woman’s words at face value. “Okay, I’ll write to you when everything’s settled. If you see George, Arthur, Charlie or Molly anytime soon, could you pass on my love?”

Bill stood and held out his hand in front of Harry, who took it immediately to shake it vigorously. “Of course, little brother,” he said. “If you need anything, you write to us right away. And you’d better send Fleur an owl in the next few days anyway. Never seen her as uptight as when you disappeared out of the public eye so suddenly.”

“Oh, no you do not, Bill,” Fleur scolded playfully. “You weel not put all of zhe blame on me. You were just as crazy as everyone else.”

“Yeah, sure, I admit it. I was. But, it’s Harry, Fleur. How could I not?”

“Yes, ‘ow could you not?” she asked, shaking her head before standing from her chair. Harry stood as well, unwilling to be the smallest person in the room, and was surprised by the extra tight hug that the blonde woman was wrapping him up in. “You weel write, _non_? I know where you are now.”

Harry chuckled ruefully. “Of course, Fleur. No need to have you storming Malfoy Manor because I haven’t written to you. I’ll show you out.”

“No need, Harry,” Bill said, taking his wife’s arm and looping it through his crooked elbow. “We’ll see ourselves out. Take care, you hear.”

“You too,” Harry answered, watching as the two older wizards left him alone in the sitting room that had felt so full not so long ago. Before he could allow himself to drift into melancholia, he decided to find Narcissa in the library. After all, she had some magic book that would answer his questions about the debt of honour, right?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa had just begun to actually _worry_ about Harry’s sanity when the teen walked through the library doors with Crimmy escorting him. He seemed to be distracted, but not unpleasantly so, from what Narcissa could tell. The house-elf curtsied and then popped away discretely. That was enough to bring Harry’s full attention to where he was, and the woman couldn’t help but smile at the embarrassed grin he gave her. “I take it that you enjoyed your visit with the Weasleys?” she asked, feeling very proud of herself that she hadn’t sneered the name as she used to do.

“Oh, yes, it was pleasant enough,” Harry answered carefully as he moved to sit in the plush armchair next to hers before the roaring fire. He covered his mouth as he yawned widely. “Sorry about that. I’m feeling unusually tired all of a sudden.”

“Yes, well, it has been a rather stressful last few days,” Narcissa said sympathetically. If only Harry _knew_ just how taxing they’d been for everyone else. “If you are too tired to speak with me right now, I can call Crimmy back to escort you to your room.”

“No, I’m fine, Narcissa. I can talk. I’ll take a nap later though.”

The blonde woman nodded before she got up and pulled down the volume she’d found after the meeting with Jacobi. “I found something that you might find interesting about your current situation. It might even help you make your decision a little easier.”

“I…I don’t really want to talk about that right now,” Harry said cautiously. “My head feels as if it’s going to explode as is.”

“Yes, well, I would suggest _very_ strongly that you read this passage,” she said, placing the heavy tome in the teen’s lap.

He stared at the book as if it was going to attack him, but all that could be gleamed from the cover was the fact that it was old, of a soft leather that had begun to crack, and the title— _Traditions and Rituals for the Young Pureblood_ —in large, Gothic, and gilded letters. “What’s this?”

“That is a book that is usually in every pureblood family’s library. The information that we’re interested in is on page 180. It’s not as extensive as it _could_ be, but seeing as how the debt of honour is so rarely granted in modern times, that is not as surprising as it would otherwise be.”

Harry nodded, his dark head bent over the book as he read. Narcissa closed her blue eyes and could almost see the eyes seared onto her brain.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Debt of Honour - In times when pureblood families engaged in silent, and not-so-silent, feuds, many life-debts and the like were accrued by one person or another. In some cases, the debts that were owed could not be paid by the one who had the responsibility to do so. This could have been through unforeseen circumstances, such as death, loss of physical and/or mental faculties, or lack of monies. In those situations, the debt fell to the head of the family to pay back to the one who was owed._

_If that was the case, then the head of the family had specific duties to fulfil to the recipient of the debt. One, he has to shelter the other person in his home if he should need it, for any reason._

_Two, he must attempt to assist the other person in finding an acceptable marriage partner (the recipient's choice of gender is taken into account in this matter). This step absolutely must be adhered to since the honour of the debt lies heavily on the family that has incurred the debt. Since many of the families where such debts happened were pureblood and therefore concerned with continuing the family lines, it was logical to use such a debt to banish family feuds by intermarrying, and forcing both parties to become family and end the feud. In order to be acceptable, the spouse must recognise the lineages of both sides (pureblood, half-blood, or Muggle-born respectively) and how many times the lines have intermarried and whom they are currently attached to. If the prospective spouse does not or refuses to acknowledge this information, they are not acceptable and the magic will reject them._

_Three, if the magic has rejected all of the prospective spouses, or none can be found that fit in with the desires of both sides of the debt, then the head of the family that has incurred the debt must offer to marry the holder of said debt into their family. If they are not married, they would be an acceptable choice, or if there was any person around the same age and of similar temperament of the holder, they would be named to marry the holder of the debt._

_If these conditions are not kept, it would be seen by the debt's magic as forsaking their duties and stripping the family of any honour—past, present, or future—that would be attached to the family name. In that case, the entire family that owes the debt would be stripped of their magic, unless they have already married into another family._

_The debt can become further complicated if there have been incidents of extreme violence between members of either side of the debt that are not direct results of a feud that has been openly acknowledge by previous generations and held at least for two generations. If that is the case, then should the holder of the debt refuse, even amicably, any assistance from the family that owes the debt, then the owing family will be stripped of their magic to right the wrongs that have happened._

_As this is rather archaic and out of practice, and since many feuding families end up intermarrying to bury the feud, there are not a lot of modern day cases of this particular debt being put into play. The last case of this occurring in England was between Richard Potter and Julius-Marcus Malfoy in 1725. There is no record of these two families having any sort of feud ever, so it can only be assumed that the debt was made when Richard Potter saved the life of Julius-Marcus's nephew, who was two at the time._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I don’t really _get_ what this is saying,” Harry said after twenty minutes of silence and reading the passage three times to be sure. “There’s a lot of supercilious language here.”

Narcissa smiled at Harry’s choice of words. She didn’t think even Draco would have picked that particular phrase to use. It was a bit endearing to see more of the other boy’s hidden depths. “Yes, it is rather patronising, I’m afraid, but you must bear in mind that the book was written for people such as my son.”

“Irritable, poncy gits?” Harry responded teasingly. “No, I did gather that, Narcissa, but what I’m talking about is the part about ‘recognising the lineages of both sides.’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hm,” she vocalised as she gathered her thoughts. “Let me see if I can simplify it for you. The prospective spouse has to be willing to deal with the fact that the bloodlines of any of the parties might be less than satisfactory. In your case, you are a half-blood with a Muggle-born mother but your father is from a very prestigious and long line of purebloods. Or if Miss Weasley was a prospective partner, the fact that her family has a long-standing feud with the Malfoys and that they haven't been the most financially secure would play a part, considering that the Potters, Blacks and Malfoys all have their own funds. Or the fact that they are willing to have less than pureblooded members of their family join, such as Fleur Delacour-Weasley or Hermione, would be another factor. The last thing is that they must realise that both you and my son have ties to the Black line, both as the son of one of the members and the heir appointed by my cousin Sirius. Does that make sense to you?”

“I suppose so,” Harry said as he bit his lower lip. “How important is the bloodline thing though?”

“It is rather important, I’m afraid.” She sighed as she could see his face grow pinched and withdrawn. “You misunderstand me, Harry. What I am saying is that the fact that the prospective spouse acknowledges what amounts to as your personal and family history without complaint is what is important. It isn’t what your lines _are_ , just what the prospective is willing to accept.”

“Oh,” he whispered. His anger deflated almost as quickly as it had come and pronounced his lack of energy even more. Narcissa noted that this was not the first time he had reacted in that particular fashion that day. “So, um, this has happened between our families before, huh? Is that important as well?”

Narcissa could help but smile again at the teen. _Really, if my son wasn’t so besotted with him already, I would have to drop a hint in his ear about Harry Potter, now that things between us are better._ “Yes, it seems as if the Potters just can’t help but be heroes. My son and husband would do well to remember that this is the _second_ time that the Malfoys have ended up owing a Potter a debt of honour. And it is important, as that means the ties between you and my son run deeper than anyone has previously recognised. It does make it rather important as to how _this_ particular debt is handled, as you both could be seen as members of the same family, though through different branches.”

“Just what I needed. More pressure,” Harry said sadly as he got up and walked out of the room.

Narcissa didn’t say anything about how rude and bad- mannered his behaviour was. For one, she didn’t know if he knew any better, being raised by Muggles. And two, she could tell that he was too distracted to think about such trivial things. She let him go without any fuss. Besides, it was beyond time she checked in with Lucius and Jacobi.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Two hours after he’d begun looking for her, Granger finally returned to the downstairs parlour where they’d had tea and conversation with the Weasleys and Harry. Her head was bent over a book, and she was wiping tears away from her eyes impatiently as she tried to read it. She was sitting at the window seat, muttering under her breath, and Draco was frankly surprised that the girl hadn’t looked up as he entered the room. With a flash of insight, he cast an Eavesdropping Charm and waited.

“Of course he is suffering from depression,” she muttered angrily. “The both of them are, and all this book suggests to do is get them to _talk_? That will _never_ happen, especially not Ron. He will _never_ agree to talk to anyone about what’s been going on.”

Draco bit back a sigh. _Of course Granger is obsessing about how to help her friend and that abominable Weasel. I don’t know why I thought that after everything that had happened between the_ Golden _Trio that I could cut out the redheaded idiot and keep the other two to benefit Mother and me._ He scowled as he processed that thought. _Not that I want to_ replace _Weasley. No, Malfoys do not stand as replacements for Weasleys,_ ever.

 _And if Harry thinks that I am about to assist him in getting some sort of marriage contract with that twat, the Weaslette, he is sorely mistaken._ Draco paused as he thought over his last sentence. _No, he wouldn’t want her back—even if he decided that he would rather be with someone other than me. He’d rather be with Granger than the Weaslette, I think. He made that rather obvious last night._

 _Merlin, it_ was _just last night that we talked about all of this. I feel as if months have passed since that conversation over our aborted chess game._

“Are you actually going to enter this room, Malfoy? Or do you plan on standing near the doorway with that little pout on your face?” Granger asked from over the top of her book.

“Malfoys don’t pout,” he said as he walked through the door. “We scowl, sneer, smirk, and, on occasion, smile.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she waved him off impatiently. “So, what’s wrong?”

“Why would you assume that there is something wrong with me, Granger?” _Really, she’s far too perceptive for her own good. Sev was right about that._

“Well, there are only two reasons you’d come looking for me: either Harry or you want to talk about him. So, which is it?”

“Neither, actually,” Draco said as he sat down on the seat nearest her. “I need to speak to you about something personal.”

“Oh?” She looked up from her book with wide, brown eyes that made him feel as if he was an interesting Arithmancy problem that she had discovered. “And you thought that I would be the best person to ask? Why?”

 _I should have known that Granger wasn’t going to make this easy._ “Because you have some personal experience with a similar issue—that’s why I’m coming to you. Trust me. I _do_ wish that I could have Severus here to ask, but seeing as how he is _dead,_ you’ll have to do.”

She surprised him by smiling widely. “Well, that’s the most honest you’ve been with me since we’ve known each other, Malfoy,” she said brightly. “So, what is this personal crisis that you require my assistance with?”

“You understand that if you talk to anyone about this–”

“You’ll torture me so badly that it’ll make Bellatrix’s look like tickling?” Merlin _damn_ her, but she was _still_ smiling.

“Yes, quite,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Rest your pretty little head, Malfoy. I have no intention of sharing this conversation with anyone, not even Harry, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Keep a lot of confidences, do you?” he asked, relaxing as he thought about how much she must know about Harry and Weasley and things from the war that no one had really found out from her. “Don’t answer that.” He took a deep breath and decided to just jump into things feet first since he’d already started this conversation. “I have a difficult decision to make, outside of the debt of honour.”

“Can I safely assume that this has something to do with your father?” He nodded. “I thought so, since you mentioned something about me having experience with a similar problem. What is it?”

He opened his mouth and let her know everything.

TBC


	18. Tick Tock, Tick Tock

**Warnings and Disclaimers** found in Chapter 1.

 **Author’s Notes:** I’m really sorry about the delay. Writer’s Block and working on a birthday gift for a friend have severely cut into the time I use to work on my regular stories. Thanks to all my reviewers, and Jokes is still the bestest!

** Chapter Eighteen—Tick Tock, Tick Tock **

Draco looked through the doorway and into the room where Healer Jacobi and Bill Weasley worked together to take the curses off of his father. It had taken a week for both men to finally agree on how to go about the business of doing so when they realised that the _Confundus_ and miscast Bedazzling Hex had to be removed at the same time, but slowly and in small increments. This was day three of their joint effort and things appeared to be going well with them.

His mother and Fleur Delacour-Weasley sat at the far end of Lucius's room, chatting as if they were old friends. The two women had come directly to the room when the Healer and Curse Breaker had begun to work early that morning. In fact, Draco hadn't actually _seen_ his mother at all until now. He had been the one to receive their guests down in the Floo room and escort them upstairs. The room had been empty of anyone but his father and a lone house-elf that kept guard at night.

In the time that had passed, Draco had not been idle. After he’d had the conversation with Granger about his father and he finally decided to go forth with the healing, things had moved forward quickly on the potions front as well. In fact, he'd just left the girl in his lab with Harry, brewing up the potions that the Healers—Jacobi had added a nutrition potion to Sharpe's prescriptions—had assigned the stubborn Gryffindor. She'd been most adamant about having the notoriously horrid-at-Potions Potter assist her as she brewed, saying that it would give the bespectacled teen something to do besides brood over his own weighty decision.

This brought Draco to the crux of his problem—Harry still hadn’t made up his mind about what he would do regarding the debt of honour. Draco had been forced to do a little research into the matter himself and discovered that if, in a year's time of the debt's start, both sides hadn't come to an agreement about how it was to be settled, then the side that owed the debt would forfeit their rights to magic. As it was now March—nine months since the Final Battle and eight since the trials—Draco could feel his magic failing to respond at certain times. There were other times where he would attempt to cast a spell he'd done a million times before and pain would lance up his right arm from his wand. It was truly _most_ inconvenient.

He watched as his mother used her embroidering materials. Every now and then, her fast fingers would stop and put down the circle as if she’d been shocked. It was obvious that she was feeling the effects as well. It would only get worse and more painful as the year’s deadline grew nearer.

“Darling, why are you standing in the doorway?” Narcissa asked gently, her voice carrying well in the vast room. “Is there something the matter?”

“No, Mother,” he said, stepping into the room and walking over to the seating arrangement by the large fireplace. “Everything is as well as can be. I’ve come to check on the healing and to see how you and Mrs Weasley are doing this beautiful day.”

“We are doing veery well, zhank you, Lord Malfoy,” Fleur said sweetly. “Your mozher was just telling me about ‘er new pattern zhat she is working on.”

“Yes, I was telling her how I came across it when I was going through your grandmother’s things last week,” Narcissa added.

Draco looked down at the beautiful pattern that was being stitched out on the snow-white fabric. It was of a peacock and dragon intertwined. Both animals were in the same blue-green shade that one found in regular peafowl. After taking a closer look, he could see blood on the edges of the fabric and swallowed. His mother had been known for her nimble, quick fingers and beautiful needlework. He couldn’t remember a time when she’d pricked herself so badly that she bled on her projects. Evidently, the magical needle was angry with her.

Shoving down his anxiety, he gave both women one of his most charming smiles. “Ah, yes, didn’t Grandmére have a copy of this in her rooms before she passed away?” he asked calmly.

“Yes, she did. It was her insistence that you be named after Draconis, you know?” Narcissa offered, placing her embroidery in her lap before reaching for the teacup at her side. “She knew of the Black family tradition of naming the children after constellations and thought it was a tragedy that my mother had deviated from it with myself.”

“Yes, I’ve always wondered why Grandmother Druella decided to name you outside of the tradition,” Draco replied, taking a seat next to his mother.

“She always told me that she told Father that since he had Bella and…Andromeda following in the Black tradition, she was allowed to name me after her own family’s tradition of Latin and Greek names.” Narcissa looked over at their guest and smiled. “I’m afraid that we must be boring you, Fleur.”

“Oh, not at ahll,” Fleur gushed happily. “I find it veery _interesante_ to ‘ear about zhe nameen traditions of your families.”

“You are too kind,” Narcissa said. “Of course, Draco, your grandmother’s insistence about your name fit all three family traditions, so it was very welcome to everyone involved.”

“Hm…” he vocalised, looking over at the bed, where the other men were located. “How is the healing coming along today? Has Jacobi spoken to you about it?”

“He and Mr Weasley believe that in a few more days, your father will finally wake up and then it should only be a day after that when he will be completely healed,” Narcissa said smoothly. It was only the slight trembling of her hand that let Draco know how very happy she was about the prospect of it being nearly over for their family—at least when it came to his father’s well-being.

“’Ow is ‘Arry today?” Fleur asked quietly as her musical voice cut into Draco’s heavy thoughts. “I deed not see ‘im when we arrived.”

“Oh, I left him and Granger in my potions lab,” he replied smoothly. “He’s been brooding for the last few days, and I thought that she would be the one to finally get him out of his funk.”

“’As ‘e made up ‘is mind about zhe debt of ‘onour yet?”

“Not that he has said to anyone, and since he has yet to vocalise it, the magic has not registered his decision,” Narcissa answered.

“But...but...’as no one told ‘im zhe consequences of zhe time frame?” the French woman asked, sounding rightly appalled.

“We decided to refrain from telling him about that,” Draco said. “He already feels as if he is being pressed in on every side. I felt it would be wrong to add more pressure to an already difficult decision for him.”

“’Ow noble,” Fleur spat. “Will zhat be enough when your magic begeens to eat away at your bones?” She turned to Narcissa with a harsh look on her pretty face. “Where is ‘e? I will talk to ‘im about zhis right now!”

“Fleur?” Bill Weasley called, his handsome face—despite the scars from Greyback that made Draco a little nauseous with guilt—wearing a worried expression. “Is there something wrong?”

“ _Oui_ , Bill, ‘Arry ‘as not made his decision about zhe debt yet,” his wife said heatedly. “Zhey are already suffering from zhe side effects!”

“Mrs Weasley,” Healer Jacobi said, coming over to the upset woman and placing a comforting hand on her arm. “I am giving Narcissa and Draco the needed pain potions every day and checking to make sure that they aren’t suffering irreparable damage.”

“’e does not _know_ ,” she snarled. “Zhey ‘af not _told_ ‘im zhat zhis would ‘appen!”

“What?” Bill asked, his face turning from confused to angry as he looked at Draco. “You haven’t told him what would happen?”

“I thought it was enough for him to know that if he refused that we would be Squibs. I didn’t want to add more pressure to his already weighted down decision,” Draco defended. “You know what he is like, Weasley. He already carries enough guilt for the entire Wizarding world! I didn’t think that he could handle anymore!”

“Bloody hell! Draco, you’re an idiot. Where is he?” Draco felt his jaw clench in anger. He didn’t want to insult the man who was doing his family a great service, but it was a close thing. “Never mind,” Bill said, turning to Narcissa. “Do you know where he is?”

“Harry is with Hermione in Draco’s potion lab. I can call an elf to show you the way, if you’d like,” Narcissa said charmingly. Draco snarled at his mother and was ignored. “Crimmy!”

Harry’s personal elf popped up next to where Narcissa sat and curtseyed quickly. “Mistress Narcissa called for Crimmy?”

“Yes, please show Mr and Mrs Weasley the way to Master Draco’s potions lab and bring Miss Granger back here,” Narcissa asked politely. The elf nodded and started out of the room, the Weasleys following behind the creature.

“How _dare_ you,” Draco said to his mother. “ _Why_ did you _do_ that?”

“Because, my love, I believe that Harry deserves to know _everything_ that is involved in this entire situation,” Narcissa said emphatically, putting her embroidery to the side. “Besides, I will _not_ suffer needlessly. He has made up his mind, I believe, but he needs a push in the right direction to finally make him realise it.”

“Mother, pushing him at this point could only make it worse! He is unstable enough as it is.”

“You will remember yourself, my son,” Narcissa said icily. “You may be the head of this family, but _I_ am still your mother.”

Draco blanched. He’d been yelling at his mother, the woman who’d lied to a crazy madman to make sure he was safe. It was beyond a breach of decorum. It was completely ungrateful and disrespectful. “I apologise, Mother. You are right.” He sighed heavily and fell into the seat that Fleur had vacated. “You are probably correct about Harry as well. I suppose being pushed by Bill and Fleur Weasley will force him to come to terms with things.”

“Yes, my love,” she said gently, leaning forward to take one of his hands. “This is for the best. Besides, why should _we_ suffer from Harry’s anger when we have a house full of Gryffindors to take the brunt of it?”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. His mother was a Slytherin through and through, and everyone forgot that when she was being so affable and polite. “You are devious, Mother.”

“Thank you, Draco.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry and Hermione both looked up when the door to the lab opened, revealing an _extremely upset_ Bill and Fleur Weasley with his personal elf, Crimmy. Something about the situation had Harry worried. Especially when Crimmy turned to Hermione. “Mistress Narcissa is requesting Miss Granger’s presence in Master Lucius’s rooms. If you is being so kind to come with Crimmy, miss?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Hermione said. “Let me just put a Stasis spell on this.” She waved her wand over the cauldrons they’d been working on and then practically ran from the lab with Crimmy leading the way.

Harry turned to Bill and Fleur with a wary smile. “What’s going on? You look fit to flay something within an inch of their life. Working with Jacobi becoming too much for you?”

“No, working with Jacobi, Narcissa and Draco is fine,” Bill said. “My problem is with you.”

“What did I do this time?” Harry asked, confused at the wrath of his adopted brother.

“Do you know how long it’s been since Lucius and Draco incurred the debt of honour with you?” Bill asked. “It’s been _eight_ months since the trials. Were you aware that if you and Draco didn’t settle at least if you were going to accept his help or not within a year’s time that the debt’s magic would begin to turn on the owing family?”

“What?” Harry said, shocked beyond words. He moved from the work table where he’d been leaning and moved over to one of the stools to sit down. “I…didn’t. No one told me and the book that Narcissa gave me to look at didn’t mention it.”

“Do you know why zhat is, ‘Arry?” Fleur asked gently, coming over and taking one of his hands in her own. “Because no family ‘as pushed zhe limits seence it was discovered by zhe first families. Zhey decided zhat it was too _wrong_ to— _comment dit-il?_ —push zhe limits again.”

“You’re going to accept Draco’s help, Harry,” Bill said carefully. “I know you enough to know that you can’t allow the Malfoys to suffer so much. Why don’t you just tell Draco that and get all of this over with?”

“I just…I don’t know, alright?” Harry said, feeling so completely defeated. “I don’t want to force Draco into something like this debt is doing. I didn’t speak up for his family to have him trapped into helping me.”

“You don’t really have a choice about them having to help you,” Bill replied. “However, I’ve noticed that Draco’s not complaining about it. He seems to like having you here.”

“’Arry, zhey deserve to know what you have decided,” Fleur added. “I will not force you to tell us, but promise me zhat you will tell Draco tonight.”

“Alright, you win,” Harry said, slumping over and sighing heavily. “I’ll tell him tonight.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco waited uncomfortably for Harry to show up for dinner. His mother had decided to go out with Hermione that evening, under a Glamour while her house-elf, Manky, kept watch over his father. She’d said something about giving them some time alone for things to be discussed. Besides, it had been ages since she’d been to eat outside of the Manor. Or so she had used as an excuse to avoid being involved in the conversation that was bound to happen. _She’s not supposed to be cowardly. She’s the calm, cool and collected one out of this family. Besides, she loves to have any information that she can use later as gossip._

The heavy oak door to the dining room opened, showing an apprehensive Harry in the doorway. The dark-haired man took a step forward, stopped, looked at Draco, blushed heavily, and then continued to the chair across from him that had become _his_ seat. “Sorry I’m late,” he mumbled.

“Oh, no, you’re fine,” Draco said blithely while his insides churned with nervousness. “The elves will only bring dinner to the table when I call for them, so you’ve not kept anything by coming down a few seconds later than you normally would.”

Harry looked up, his green eyes smiling. “I didn’t know that you babbled, Draco.”

Heat rushed to the surface of his cheeks in embarrassment. “I do _not_ babble. I was merely attempting to be friendly and ease your anxiety.”

Harry smiled finally and it was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds on a winter’s day. “Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Draco muttered, calling for dinner to be served.

They ate in silence, neither of them venturing to say anything to ease the tension. After the meat course had been taken away by the kitchen elves and dessert—treacle tart, Harry’s favourite—was served, his companion finally spoke again.

“Why didn’t you tell me that there was a time frame connected with the acceptance of the debt’s terms, Draco?”

“Yes, well, I knew that you were already feeling stressed over the very existence of the debt, Harry. I didn’t want to add to it.”

“Thank you for thinking about me, but you failed to mention that if I didn’t accept the debt within a year that the magic would turn against you and your mother. I would have hoped that in the last few weeks that you would have recognised that I’m fond of you and your mother.”

“It hadn’t escaped my notice,” Draco replied. _Not that fond is okay with me. I now want more than just your regard, you stupid Gryffindor._

“Bill and Fleur told me today in the lab and I promised Fleur that I would tell you what my decision was.”

 _So, Mother_ was _right. He was just trying to process it himself before he spoke to me. Pushing Weasley to do our dirty work was the right thing to do._ “And what is the conclusion that you’ve come to?” he asked cautiously.

“I will accept your help to find an acceptable spouse, I suppose,” Harry said as if he was trying to chew rocks and not a sweet confection. “Although, I think it’ll be hard for us to find someone who is going to be okay with all of our familial connections.”

“And if that should prove the case, then what?” Draco asked, putting his dessert fork on the porcelain plate that held his untouched dessert.

“Then, I suppose you’re stuck with me,” Harry said calmly as he stuffed the rest of the treacle tart into his mouth and swallowed quickly. “I’m going to go to bed early, if you don’t mind. Good night, Draco.”

“Good night, Harry,” Draco said, watching as the other man left the dining room with a confident swagger. When he was alone, his face broke out into a beatific smile and his heart soared in his chest. _Nothing could be better at this moment. Nothing._

TBC


	19. Scouring the Land

**Warnings and Disclaimers** found in Chapter 1.

 **Author’s Notes:** Thank you for all of the reviews! They really _do_ brighten up my day and make writing so much more enjoyable! And, unneeded, READ THE STORY! IT’S GREAT! By the way, Jokes, I heart you so very much for everything you’ve done so far!!! You’re a right gem!

** Chapter Nineteen—Scouring the Land **

Draco was torn. He _knew_ that he was supposed to be examining a list of potential spouses for Harry that his mother had drawn up the moment that Draco had told her about Harry’s decision the night before, but he didn’t _want_ to. _No_ _one_ would be good enough or willing enough to put up with everything that being with Harry Potter entailed—especially while he was very much attached to the Malfoy name—or who wouldn’t agree to an union just because Harry was the _Chosen One_ or rich and famous.

Besides, the list was rather pathetic.

Shockingly enough, _his_ name was the first. The second was Hermione Granger. The others consisted of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs from either their year at Hogwarts or a few years ahead. He could have _laughed_ when he saw George Weasley’s name, but something stopped him from blowing it off as his mother’s idea of a horrible joke. _Mother wouldn’t do something so crass as to joke about the debt, especially not if she’s plotting something, and I know she is._

George Weasley, and his deceased twin Fred, had been rather good friends with Harry back at school. He remembered hearing a rumour that Harry had turned over his winnings from the Tri-Wizard Tournament to help start their joke shop. He also remembered seeing Harry and his two sidekicks in Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes before the beginning of sixth year before he’d had to go intimidate Borgin at his shop through the large plate glass window in a rather intimate huddle. And the Weasley twins had always seemed more Slytherin than Gryffindor —at least that had been the consensus in the snake pit one day when they were all talking about the Boy Who Lived and his cronies.

So, no, George Weasley was a _fine_ choice, if Draco was being honest. But, he didn’t want to be. He _wanted_ Harry for himself. He didn’t want to have to give him up to a redheaded Weasel.

He looked up when someone knocked on the door to his own study—just down the hall from his father’s and close to the library as well—and bade them to enter. He wasn’t _so_ surprised to see that it was Granger standing there, looking annoyed and as if she was going to subject him to one of her infamous lectures. “Is there something I can do for you, Hermione?” he asked politely, putting the list down on the desktop with no little relief.

“Yes, _Draco_ ,” she snapped, stomping over to his desk like some uncouth commoner. “You can tell me _why_ you are going to go through with this _farce_ of a search when you and I both know that Harry wants you and you want him!”

“Because, Hermione, I must at least make an _effort_ to find someone else before I suggest that Harry and I join to fulfil the debt. My marrying Harry is to be a last ditch effort, regardless of how I really _feel_ about the situation.”

“God, that’s so _stupid_ ,” she said, snatching up the list and throwing her body inelegantly into one of the comfortable chairs in front of his cherry-wood desk. “Well, you can cross my name off of this list. I mean, it’s flattering that I’m there at all, but if Harry wasn’t so lost over you and he wasn’t like my _brother_ , it wouldn’t be a bad match.”

“No, you’d supply all the brains, and he’d supply the good name and gold,” Draco answered sulkily.

“Yes, yes, I know I’m only a Muggleborn and that must really irk you, but the idea of marrying Harry is a little disgusting to be truthful.” She looked up and blushed when she noticed that Draco was trying to kill her with his glare. “I only meant to _me_ , not someone else!”

“And the others?” he asked sharply.

“Well, Ernie is dating Parvati Patil and I think Michael Corner and Lisa Turpin are engaged now,” she said.

“How in the _world_ do you know that?” _Not even I have kept up on the gossip of our year mates and_ she _spent nearly the whole of the last year in Australia and the year before that camping out in the woods with Harry and the Weasel._

“Ah, well, Lavender Brown still can’t keep her mouth shut. I ran into her last week in Diagon Alley while I was getting potions supplies. That’s why I was so late that day. You would have known sooner if you hadn’t been so nasty about it. Better cross Wayne Hopkins off the list too, since _he’s_ dating Lavender.”

“Why don’t _you_ go through the list first and take out who is unavailable before I take it to Harry then?”

“Of course, Draco,” she muttered, taking a quill from behind her ear and conjuring up a pot of ink before crossing off names while continuing to mutter under her breath.

That taken care of, Draco leaned back in his chair and tried his best to remember the dream he’d had about Harry the night before.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Narcissa glided into the library, spotting Harry in the window seat, a book in his lap but staring out onto the grounds. “Do you find Lucius’s peacocks that interesting, Harry?” she asked calmly as she moved over to him.

“Oh, hi, Narcissa,” Harry replied listlessly. “They belong to Lucius, then. Can’t say I’m really surprised to learn that.”

The boy appeared glassy-eyed and completely unlike the fiery Gryffindor she’d come to know and respect. _Is there a problem with his potions? Perhaps I should talk to Jacobi about them._ “Is there something the matter?”

“No, not really,” he answered. “I’ve had a talk with Healer Jacobi today after he checked up on Lucius and we were discussing my parents’ deaths and the way I latched onto Ron and Hermione when I joined the Wizarding world. He seems to think that I’ve made them and Ron’s parents into my stand-in parental figures.”

“Hm, that does seem to have been the case, from an outsider’s perspective, but what is _your_ opinion on the subject?” she asked, sitting at the other end of the window seat.

“No offence, Narcissa, but do you really care? It’s hardly Slytherin of you to be so willing to help if there’s nothing in it for you. Sounds a little Hufflepuff-ish to me, really.”

She gave him a fond smile before she answered. _He is learning, a little bit, but he still has much to learn if he can ask things like that. I suppose that I will just have to be as honest with him as is possible and let the gobstones play as they fall._ “There _is_ something in this for me, Harry. You are, for all intents and purposes, a member of my family. My cousin made you his heir. My son and husband owe you so much that there is a debt of honour in play. You are living in my home. And, as if all of this was not enough, you and Hermione have become _almost_ friends with my son. That makes me very interested in your well-being. So, shall I repeat the question again or will you answer me?”

He stared at her for a few minutes, his green eyes swimming with thoughts and emotions so quickly that she couldn’t place them all before he closed them. “I think it’s true that I wanted _very_ much to belong to a family when I arrived, and Ron’s family has been great. George and…” he took a deep breath before continuing, “…Fred were some of the best big brothers that anyone could ask for. Bill and Charlie always treated me like I was another one of their younger brothers underfoot as well. Molly and Arthur were wonderful. The only one who really made me feel unwelcome was Percy.”

Narcissa frowned at the mention of the third Weasley son. “Yes, Percy Weasley is a bit more…ambitious than the rest of his family, if I have the gossip correct.” She gave a huge sigh at the look of confusion on the young man’s face. “As much as Lucius meddled in the Ministry, and I am not confirming or denying anything that he might have done, he has never turned his back on his family. I understand that that was an issue between Arthur Weasley and his son.”

“Yeah, Percy’s always been a jerk,” Harry muttered.

“I notice you did not mention either the youngest Weasley son or the girl—Ginevra, I believe is her name.”

“I still don’t know how I feel about Ginny or Ron.” He ran a hand roughly through his unruly hair before he spoke again. “No, that’s not right. I know _exactly_ how I feel about Ginny. She’s like my little sister. It would be too awkward to date her again. I mean, it was okay when we were in school, but I really felt like it was expected that I should fall in love with her and have a horde of redheaded brats, like Draco was so fond of suggesting back then.”

“So, you are saying that your attraction to Miss Weasley was fleeting? A mere crush?”

“I don’t know?” Harry answered, his eyes frantic. “All I know was that after Dumbledore’s death, I _had_ to break up with her to keep her safe. It was the only thing I could think of. I couldn’t get her into trouble on the hunt. She was underage and Molly’s only daughter. By the time that we left, Ron and Hermione were seventeen and knew exactly what it was that could have happened to us. I mean, I guess we were lucky with only being dragged here to the Manor that one time, but it could have been so much worse. Especially if Draco hadn’t been so reluctant to admit that it was me to Lucius and Bellatrix.”

Narcissa once again felt her lips curling up into a fond smile for the young man beside her. “So, you nobly told the girl that you loved that she had to stay with her parents so that she could be reasonably safe. Did you not think that once Severus became Headmaster that she could have been used against you by the Death Eaters?”

“I didn’t know that Snape was going to become Headmaster, but even as much as I hated him for his part in Dumbledore’s death, I didn’t think he’d use a girl to further his agenda. I mean, he pretty much had what he wanted, aside from me dead.”

“Harry, you are very mistaken if you believe that Severus ever _truly_ wanted you dead. Out of the many things he was, stupid was not one of them.”

“I know; he loved my mum so much that he betrayed Voldemort, even though he knew it was too late. The git went out of his way to make sure that I would defeat Voldemort, despite the fact that it cost him his life. But, he was anything but nice to me. He treated me like shit from the first second we met, refused to acknowledge that I was a completely different person from my dad, and even went so far as to be legitimately cruel to me. I will _never_ be a Severus Snape fan, Narcissa, but I _do_ appreciate the lengths he went to so that I could win the war. That doesn’t mean I have to like him.”

“That is true. Severus was a hard man to get close to, and even I found myself desperate enough to beg him into the Unbreakable Vow to keep my son alive during his sixth year. Do not think that Severus let that occasion pass without gloating.”

“I bet he couldn’t laugh hard enough that you were there for Draco,” Harry said bitterly.

“To be honest, I think that sometimes Severus forgot that he was Draco’s godfather. He let his guilt and his grief over Lily Evans-Potter twist his heart into something unrecognisable from the boy I knew at Hogwarts.”

“I don’t want to talk about Snape anymore, Narcissa.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. We were speaking about Ronald and Ginevra Weasley,” she said, ignoring the way his jaw clenched and the sound of his teeth grinding together. _That is a habit he will have to break. He has such lovely teeth that it would be a shame should he mar them. Another time, we will speak about that, but not now._ “Continuing on with the subject—when did you notice your feelings for her had changed?”

“The night of the Final Battle, I guess. I realised that I hadn’t thought about her the entire time I was hunting down Voldemort’s Horcruxes. I mean, I knew she existed, but I didn’t really miss her the way that Hermione missed Ron when he went home for a spell. I was too preoccupied with trying to keep everyone safe. I mean, if I really loved her, wouldn’t I have been able to spare a few seconds every once in a while to fantasize about our life when the war was over?”

“I cannot answer that question for you. It is something that you will have to find out for yourself. However, was there someone that you thought about while you were away?”

“To be honest,” Harry said, blushing furiously and rubbing at the back of his neck in a rather adorable fashion. “I’d get these visions about what Draco was forced to do and I would see his face and it would haunt me more than the deaths or tortures that were going on around him.”

“Tell me, truly, Harry, if you had a say in how the debt was fulfilled, how would you go about it?”

“I wish it didn’t even exist, to be honest,” he muttered darkly. “It’s been nothing but trouble from the first. No one told me about a time limit and how it would make you and Draco suffer until I gave you my answer, and then if I refused you could have lost your magic. I just feel like it is totally unnecessary in the long run. Besides, I hate that Draco and I have no choice in the matter. I mean, I really appreciate the fact that you and Draco have let me stay here in the Manor to escape all the crap from the reporters, the public, and the Weasleys, but I could do without the magically-enforced meddling.”

She chuckled wryly. “I can guarantee that Draco does not see it that way, Harry. Perhaps you and my son should discuss what is going on around you some more. And I believe it would do you both a world of good if you both left your tempers at the door and spoke honestly. Now, I believe he is in his study, should you wish to do so.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry narrowed his green eyes as he looked at Narcissa Malfoy fully for the first time since she had entered the room. Sure, she appeared to be the same self-contained, aloof, beautiful woman he’d met before, but there was a certain look in her blue eyes that set off his suspicions. And instead of brooding on it, he gathered his courage and said exactly what he was thinking. “Are you telling me that you wouldn’t mind if Draco and I failed to find a ‘suitable’ match and were forced to marry to fulfil this stupid debt?”

“Why would I, Harry? You have already proven that you are powerful by surviving the Killing Curse twice now. You are obviously smarter than Draco or Severus ever gave you credit for, especially if the story that Hermione told me about your tricking Lucius into freeing his personal house-elf is true. You are not a fortune hunter. You are fair of face. You are, perhaps, a little rough around the edges, but the best diamonds usually are until they are buffed a bit.”

 _I_ think _I understand what she’s saying._ Harry gave a huffy sigh and felt his body relaxing for the first time in weeks. “Although I can’t really take credit for surviving Voldemort’s attempts to kill me, I suppose the rest is fairly accurate.”

“Wonderful,” she said, placing a delicate and long-fingered hand upon his arm. “Now, I am going to have tea in the conservatory. Would you care to join me?”

Just as he was about to answer, a house-elf popped up before them and began pulling at its flapping ears and wailing. “Mistress ‘Cissa, Manky is having bad news to tell you.”’

“What is it, Manky?” Narcissa asked kindly, keeping the elf from pulling her ears off. “Is there something the matter with Master Draco or Lucius?”

“No, no, ma’am, Masters is being fine.” The elf’s large, hazel eyes began to water. “Manky was being out in the gardens talking to Rochester about Mistress’s roses when a rude boy with red hair is trying to break down the gates and not going away. He is being a bad blood traitor!”

Harry felt his blood run cold. Of course it had only been a matter of time before news of where he was staying reached Ron, but he hadn’t thought that his ex-best friend would go so far as to actually _show up_ at Malfoy Manor. “I’ll go talk to him,” Harry said lifelessly, standing up to take care of it.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Draco snarled from the library door. “ _I_ will speak to Weasley, before I hex his genitals off for trespassing and attempting to destroy private property.”

TBC


	20. A Showdown, of Sorts

**Warnings and Disclaimers** found in Chapter 1.

 **Author’s Notes:** The much anticipated confrontation between Ron, Harry and Draco. I’ve wanted to write this scene for about ten chapters now, but Jokes kept telling me that it was too soon. Oh well. Since she’s absolutely brill, I listened and I think the story’s better for it. Thank you to all my reviewers. I love you all!

 **Author’s Note 2:** I’m very glad that everyone enjoys this story as much as they do, but please do **_not_** harass me about new chapters. I work full-time, have an ill mum, and a lot of other stories that I work on. I will update the stories as I find time. Thank you!

** Chapter Twenty—A Showdown, of Sorts **

Harry bristled at Draco’s domineering tone and opened his mouth to say something in return when Hermione pushed past the blond teen to come stand beside her best friend. “I’m afraid that that would be a bad idea, Malfoy,” she said coolly. “Ron would only attack first and then place blame on you if he was questioned by the Aurors. I think it’s best if we all come out as a group, Narcissa excepted, to stem off any irrational behaviour.”

“Don’t you mean to keep anyone from having to go back to St Mungo’s?” Harry asked tightly. “Let’s not beat around the bush here, ‘Mione. We all know that we all have bad tempers.”

“Well, yes, there is that,” Hermione said, her cheeks pinking a bit in embarrassment.

Harry watched as Draco’s eyes flickered back in forth in thought. _I know he thinks he’s so inscrutable, but anyone can see that he’s weighing the options in his head. It would be attractive if he wasn’t acting so high-handedly. I guess._

“Forgive me, Hermione, but _why_ should I stay inside while I let you three face Mr Weasley?” Narcissa asked neutrally. “I fail to see why I should let my son and our guests face an unknown danger while I sit comfortably inside the Manor.”

“Ron’s hardly an unknown danger,” Harry said with a sigh. “He’s more temper than anything else, but if he sees either you or Draco, he’s liable to attack and not listen to anything we say. It’s bad enough that Draco’s coming out. Besides, you’re safer inside, Narcissa.”

“I am _not_ letting you go out there alone, Potter,” Draco snarled. “So, either you let me speak to the Weasel or we just call the Aurors to have him arrested. If he does anything that trips the wards, I would be _more_ than happy to file charges.”

“Draco,” Hermione said calmly. Harry was proud of her for not flinching when the blond man turned hard, cold grey eyes on her. Instead, she smiled widely and laid a hand on Harry’s arm. “Do you _really_ think that I would let my _best_ friend go out there alone to talk to our other friend?”

“No,” Draco all but snarled, “but I _do_ think that you would be torn as to which you should side with once they begin fighting.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Hermione snapped. “Harry and Ron are able to conduct at least a few minutes of conversation without coming to blows. Besides, they’re grownups—in theory anyway—and don’t need me to play peacemaker all the time. And what makes you think that I would even _want_ to choose a side between the two of them?”

“Forgive me for thinking that a confron _tation_ between your _boy_ friend and _best_ friend would be a conflict for you,” Draco sniped. “Perhaps I’m giving you too much credit with being a _human_ being.”

“I’ll have you know that during the whole Tri-Wizard tournament fiasco during fourth year, _I_ was the one who stayed by Harry’s side while Ron and he were fighting and you were telling _lies_ to Skeeter!” Hermione nearly shrieked. “You have _no_ right to act as if I don’t know where my loyalties lie, Malfoy!”

Harry stomped over to the door of the room, ready to push Draco out of the doorway and face his _friend_ out on the Manor’s grounds with or without the blond. However, Narcissa’s cool, cultured voice stopped him. “Harry, please do not leave the Manor alone,” she requested. With a sigh, he turned around to face the aristocratic woman and waited for her to continue speaking. “Draco, Hermione, it is _unwise_ for any of us to go by ourselves to speak with Mr Weasley. However, my son, assuming that Harry would _not_ go outside to speak to his friend is unreasonable of you. Now, I have a suggestion as to how this should be conducted safely for all involved.”

The three teens waited patiently—well, as patiently as three angry, short-tempered teenagers _could_ wait, Harry thought wryly—for her to explain what she had in mind. “Harry and Hermione _must_ go outside. That is _un_ avoidable.” She held up her hand as Draco drew himself up to say something. “No, Draco, you will listen to me, or _else_. Now, I will stay inside as Hermione has recommended. However, I will move to the Front East parlour and watch everything through the French doors. That way, I can set off the alarm wards in case of an incident and I will still be able to assist. Draco, you will go out with our guests and you will remember your manners.”

Harry watched as Draco stared at his mother for a few silent moments before nodding stiffly. The dark-haired wizard released a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He felt Hermione’s hand slip into his and he squeezed it before moving towards Draco. The blond _stared_ at him with hot, silver eyes that made something inside Harry squirm with desire. He gave the other man a slow, warm smile and watched as the tips of his perfect ears and his high cheekbones turned a delicate shade of pink. “Are you coming out with me or not, Draco?”

“Of course,” Draco snapped, his blush becoming more pronounced as Hermione snickered at them both. “Shut it, Granger.”

“You don’t scare me, Malfoy,” she shot back before leading the way out of the parlour and towards the foyer.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Draco _knew_ that it was a bad idea for all three of them to come out and face Weasley alone, but Harry and Granger were _determined_ to be there. Even his mother seemed to be against him in his desire to keep Harry safely ensconced in the Manor so that _he_ could deal with Ronald Weasley. Reluctantly, and without a little muttering under his breath about idiotic Gryffindors and manipulative mothers, Draco followed behind Granger and Harry.

 _How_ dare _Harry attempt to manipulate me with that stupidly handsome smile of his,_ Draco thought venomously as he pushed through the Gryffindors to be the first out of the Manor doors. He _almost_ wished he hadn’t when he saw his father’s precious peafowl running around the front lawn, squawking and screeching so loudly that Draco could feel his eardrums vibrate with the sound.  Flashes of light were coming from the grand iron gates, signifying that Weasley hadn’t given up trying to take down the entrance to the grounds; although, the creaking noises coming from the portals didn’t sound very promising for their integrity.

“MALFOY! COME OUT HERE, YOU COWARD,” Weasley bellowed between shouts of _Confringo_ and _Relashio._

“Is there some reason you’re trying to use low-level Cutting Spells with Blasting Curses upon my antique iron gates?” Draco drawled in a louder than normal voice while Weasley’s panting breath reached his ears with no problem.

“Where is he, Ferret?” the redhead snapped.

Granger and Harry turned to stare at Draco in confusion. “What’s he mean, Draco?” Harry asked quietly. “We can see him on the other side of the gates. Why can’t he see us?”

“Because, Harry,” Draco replied calmly, “my ancestors were paranoid. While we see the gates as they are supposed to be from our side of them, when they are completely closed to an enemy, an impenetrable mist surrounds them.”

“I don’t remember that being the case when we were dragged here by Greyback,” Granger whispered. “We could see clear up the pathway to your pompous entrance.”

Draco felt the corners of his mouth twitch—as if he was going to smile—but he pressed his lips together to keep the urge at bay. _Only Granger could have perfect recall of a life-threatening situation._ “No, you wouldn’t have, because Greyback and his filthy Snatchers were tied into the wards.”

“Fascinating,” Granger murmured as she stared at the gates in front of them. “I’d like to talk to you about how that works later, if you don’t mind.”

Draco sighed, knowing that any discussion with his female counterpart would bore Harry to death and the less time he spent with Harry, the more reluctant the dark-haired boy would get, Draco feared. “Yes, but one thing at a time, Granger, if you please.”

“Oh, of course,” she replied, shaking her head like a Crup puppy Draco had seen at Pansy’s house as a child after it had woken up from a nap. “I suppose we should get this over as quickly as possible. Is there a way to make it so Ron can see us but still not gain access to the grounds?”

Draco _looked_ at Granger, not used to hearing her saying something so inherently stupid. _Merlin, I thought it was only Harry I had to worry about, not her._ He continued to stare at her as colour crept up her pale face from her neck. “Yes, well, if you’re done looking at me like you used to, perhaps we could get this over with?” she snapped, running her hands through her frizzy hair in an agitated manner.

The corners of Draco’s mouth twitched again. “Yes,” he answered calmly, taking his hawthorn wand out of his robe pocket with exaggerated care. “Harry, when the mist drops, I have no doubt that Weasley will jump on the opportunity to speak to you. You should be ready to defend yourself from anything that he has to say. I don’t know if he will have any valid points, but you will be his main target. I’d bet my father’s entire flock of peafowl on that.”

Harry bit his bottom lip, as he blinked rapidly. _No doubt he is wondering if he really wants to deal with everything right now._ That _is why I thought it was too soon for him to face Weasley, but he’s so bloody stubborn that he won’t listen to reason._ Draco was surprised when Harry’s face settled into a frown with his dark, heavy eyebrows knitted together. “I reckon you’re right, Draco, but it was bound to happen eventually. Best to get it done with now so we can get back to that list I know you and ‘Mione had earlier.”

“As you wish,” Draco replied with a slow, easy smile. _I knew you were smart, Harry, even if you are more stubborn than anyone else I know._ Draco whispered _Revealo_ as he pointed his wand at the eagle that made up the massive iron gates. Suddenly, the bright, fevered, blue eyes of Ronald Weasley were glaring at the group on the other side. “Weasley, I must thank you for stopping your attack on my property.”

“Sod off, Malfoy,” the redhead snarled before his eyes stopped on Granger. “I didn’t believe Bill when he told me that you were here, but I can see that I was an idiot to think you actually _cared_ about me.”

“What do you want, Ron?” Harry said forcefully as he stepped closer to the gates. He turned his head to glare at Draco. “You let me handle this and stay quiet.”

“Harry, what are you doing here?” Ron shouted angrily. “If you’d wanted peace and quiet, we would have gladly given that to you at the Burrow! But you’ve been acting like you’re too good for my family now that Voldemort’s gone and you’re a famous celebrity. Or maybe you’ve decided that you want to have the Malfoys cater to your every whim now that you’re the great conqueror of the evil fuck?”

“Merlin, you’re an idiot,” Harry muttered under his breath. “No, Ron, I couldn’t get any alone time when I was at your house. If I wasn’t surrounded by you, Gin and Hermione, your mum and Percy and George were there needing _something_ from me: a shoulder to cry on, someone to blame, or someone to reminisce with about Fred. I couldn’t _take_ it anymore. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating. There was _nowhere_ I could go to think or be myself.

“So, after you made it bloody _obvious_ that you thought that the only way I was worth anything to you was if I spent every second of every bleeding day with you and your family, I knew I had to get away. I don’t belong to you, Ron. I’m not a Chocolate Frog card that you can horde or trade with others. And that’s all I felt like when I was around you after the Final Battle.”

“Oh, Harry,” Granger whispered as she put a hand before her face and took a step forward. Draco put out a hand to stop her. When she turned to glare at him, he shook his head and continued to look at Harry, waiting for the fierce, angry young man to say what had been on his mind for too long and he’d been too _nice_ to voice.

“It wasn’t like that, Harry,” Weasley snarled from the other side of the gate. “It never was. Not for me. You were my best mate and the bloke dating my little sister. You were practically my brother, and then you just dropped us like last week’s rubbish. No word. Just packed up your things and disappeared like a coward, like you really _were_ a Slytherin. And then, you sent a letter to my sister to break up with her? What the hell were we supposed to think after that? You didn’t even have the guts to tell Gin to her face that you’re a bloody poofter and ready to bend over and take it up the arse for Malfoy!”

“Oh, fuck you,” Harry shot back, his ears and cheeks turning a violently red colour. “Like you were really there at my hospital room, hounding me right after I’d been in an accident, for Gin’s sake. You can tell yourself that, but I’m not buying what you’re selling, _mate_. You were there because you wanted to yell at me for not being your family’s lapdog. At least Draco and Narcissa have been _honest_ about why they’ve let me stay at the Manor and what it means that I’ve accepted it.”

Draco watched as Weasley’s face went from red to purple to white to green to back to red at an alarming rate before it settled into a shade somewhere between purple and red. _Five, four, three, two…_

“FUCK YOU, POTTER!” Weasley roared. “My family has done nothing but welcome you and tried to make you feel welcome. I didn’t even give you shit for dating my sister, or breaking up with her the way you did. I supported you through everything. I saved your _arse_ from drowning in a frozen pool and from a possessed locket. You’re nothing but a selfish, self-centred prat and you and Malfoy _deserve_ each other if you’re going to be so bloody ungrateful.”

Draco had reached his limit with Weasley’s stupidity and stepped to stand in front of the trembling, angry boy. The lashing of Harry’s magic against Draco’s back was vicious, almost like he was receiving licks from a whip of rose thorns. Part of him relished in the thought of Harry being so powerful, but he focused the main part of his attention on the fuming Weasel before him. “I fail to see how Harry coming to stay at Malfoy Manor to find some peace has anything to do with ignoring your family. From what I understand, Harry has been in contact with your eldest brother, William, and George sent him a letter the other morning that he was replying to today. It seems to me that the only ones that Harry has avoided speaking with are you, your sister, and mother.”

“What would you know about family, _Malfoy_?” Weasley snarled. Harry’s magic picked up in its unrelenting viciousness with his friend’s obviously threatening behaviour, but still Draco was determined to have his say.

“Oh, I don’t know, Weasley,” Draco drawled, affecting a bored tone that he knew that the other boy would see as a challenge. “I only nearly killed you and Katie Bell trying to get to Dumbledore so that I could _protect my family_. I only nearly killed myself with trying to find a way to get the Dark Lord’s forces into Hogwarts _to keep my parents safe._ I’ve only opened my ancestral home to both Harry Potter and Hermione Granger _to keep the honour and prestige of my family_ alive. So, you tell _me_ what I would know about family, Weasley.”

The redhead took a menacing step forward, but before anyone had said another word, Harry’s magic exploded, knocking both Draco and Granger to the ground. The blond just _barely_ managed to safe himself from knocking his head on the ground by letting his Quidditch-trained reflexes kick in and take over. He rolled to the side to see Harry standing in the middle of a very visibly pulsing aura of malice. Granger had not fared as well. “Do _not_ threaten him, Ron. In fact, remove yourself from Malfoy property. Do _not_ talk to me again. Do _not_ speak any of our names. Whatever you have to say, you can write it in a letter and I’ll decided if I want to talk to you or not. And if you go to the public with any of this, I _will_ know.”

Harry turned on his heel and moved over to help Draco and Granger stand up. “Do you want to talk to him, ‘Mione?” he asked his best friend gently as she got back up on her feet.

“Yes, I have a few things to say to him,” she said quietly. “You two don’t have to stay though.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Draco snapped as he brushed grass and gravel off of his robes. “If I allowed you to be threatened by Weasley, my mother would never forgive me and my reputation as a man would be ruined. Speak your piece. Harry and I will stay a few feet away. You can even cast one of your lovely Muffling Charms while you speak with him.”

She turned large, pain-filled brown eyes to him and gave a huge sigh. “Fine,” she whispered, looking over at her boyfriend. “And thank you.”

TBC


	21. Repercussions

**Warnings and Disclaimers** found in Chapter 1.

 **Author’s Notes:** I’m really sorry that it took me so long to get back to writing. However, once I started this, I couldn’t stop. So, hopefully you guys are still with me after two years!

** Chapter Twenty-One—Repercussions **

Harry waited until he and Draco were a safe distance away from Hermione and his _former_ best friend before he turned on the blond, his temper and magic still ready to strike out with little provocation. “What did you think you were doing, Draco?” he snarled viciously.

The blond’s grey eyes widened visibly before his entire face shut down, making him appear so much like his father that Harry had to take a deep breath to stop from attacking him. “I am unsure what you are asking, Harry,” he replied coolly.

“I _told_ you to let me handle Ron, but you just _had_ to have your say, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” the blond said heatedly, losing the iciness that Harry detested. “I wasn’t going to let someone like _Weasley_ come onto _my_ property and speak to _my_ guests however he _wanted_. The _Light_ might have won the war, but that doesn’t give him the right to trespass, destroy private property and disturb the peace. He’s lucky that I don’t call the Aurors and have him arrested.”

“Merlin, you’re so _bloody_ annoying,” Harry shot back. He didn’t _want_ to be flattered that his former nemesis was taking such an interest in keeping him safe. He didn’t _want_ to think the git was mildly attractive when he was openly passionate about _something_. No, he didn’t want to, but that didn’t stop it from happening. Nor did it stop the way he wanted to kiss him right then and there either. Nope, not a single bit.

“Then that makes two of us,” Draco replied, turning his attention to where the former paramours seemed to be having a very heated argument. Harry was nearly about to join him when he saw the way that the other wizard was dishevelled and his robes torn. He reached out and touched the surgical slices to the thick fabric of the robes and shirt underneath. The pale skin under was unblemished, however.

“Draco, why did you just stand there while my magic shredded your clothes?”

“Barely noticed a thing, Potter,” was the barely-there reply as Harry continued to lightly touch the exposed bits of flesh before he pulled his hand back, a cold fear creeping up inside at just how out of control his temper and magic was due to this whole stupid Magical Backlash business. “Wonder what Weasley and Granger are talking about though. She seems rather agitated.”

“Well, considering how well our conversation with Ron just went can’t be anything good.” Harry scrunched up his face before moving his hand away from Draco’s back and looking at the other man’s face. He seemed like an overly pleased Nundu right then. For the life of him, Harry couldn’t really think of a reason why Draco would be so bloody happy, all things concerned, but then wasn’t the time to ask either.

“No. That’s final,” Hermione’s voice said harshly as she stepped away from the gate, her Silencing Charm shattering with no notice. “If you can’t even talk to us civilly, and I mean _all of us, Ron,_ then I want nothing to do with you. Don’t contact me again until you’ve gotten some sense knocked into you, preferably in a reasonable manner.” She stomped over to Harry and Draco but continued on into the Manor, barely pausing to call back to the two. “Well, are you going to stand there or what?”

Harry looked over at Draco, who shook his head and walked calmly into his own home behind the bushy-haired girl without a word. With an amused snort, Harry followed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The thought of Harry’s calloused fingers brushing against his back through the shreds of his robes and shirt earlier had carried Draco through checking in with his mother, until he could go to his room. No sooner had he shut the door with strong Locking and Silencing Charms than Draco had his tattered clothes on the floor and his throbbing erection in hand. That much _power_ being wielded with such precise control was intoxicating. Adding in Harry’s pretty green eyes, lovely smile, and thick, sexy hair was all that the blond needed before he was crying out in pleasure violently. And it didn’t even bother him that it was his school rival that had caused this at all.

As he leaned against one of the posters to his ornate bed, Draco panted with a blissed smile on his face. Granger and his mother were obviously correct in their assumptions that Harry was attracted to him. There was no other way to explain the soft touch and the concerned tone to his voice in the middle of a heated confrontation with Weasley that made sense.

Merlin, how he wanted the Boy Who Lived, wanted to kiss him, feel his skin, and taste his breath. But, he could wait. The debt of honour was still a heavy weight between them and at least one more conversation was necessary alone before Harry’s reluctance gave way to what was going to happen.

And in the meantime, well, Draco would have to take a good, hard look at himself and the things he’d done and said before then. And wank more, probably.

The glee he’d felt all those months ago upon hearing about Harry’s falling out with Weasley returned with a viciousness that would have suited his grandfather Abraxas. A refused handshake was being paid back in spades now, and he only had to wait a bit longer and he could get everything he wanted. Everything.

Patience wasn’t a particularly great strong point for him, but it would have to be. He’d make it.

This was more than worth it.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After the talk with Narcissa, Hermione had left Malfoy Manor, saying she needed to go home and check on her parents. As reluctant as he was to have her go after everything that’d happened, Harry could see that the confrontation and her private talk with Ron had left her running low on any sort of energy to play nice with the family. With a tight hug and a promise to stop off in the morning, the girl left and Harry was alone with a house full of Malfoys.

Draco’d disappeared shortly after to change, Harry thought, and that meant the dark-haired teen was sitting in the front parlour with Narcissa Malfoy. He watched her, trying to be discreet, but he could tell she knew. She was wearing that pleased little smile he’d learned to equate with her getting her way in things. And, from a certain point of view, it did look that way.

“Is there something I can help you with, dear?” she asked calmly, her polished voice reminding him of the shows his Aunt Petunia had favoured so heavily when he was  a child, but more precise. It was the voice of a woman of class and style, but there was warmth and kindness there that no one would have ever suggested to the woman who he’d met before Fourth Year at the World Cup, or even before Sixth Year. “You’ve been quiet today, Harry.”

“Just thinking about a lot of things, I guess. Everything just seems to have happened in such a short amount of time and…” He shrugged. “I feel a little out of place here.”

“The Manor?” The woman’s piercing blue eyes made Harry squirm for a second. “If there’s anything that I or Draco can do to change that, you need only ask. I hope that you know that by now, Harry.”

“I do, but it’s not just here at the Manor. It’s the Wizarding World. It’s with Muggles. It’s everywhere.” He sighed heavily, wishing they were still in the library that had a great view of those stupid white peafowl that Lucius raised. “Hogwarts is the only place I’ve ever felt…like I belonged, but that’s over and done with. Everyone wanted me to go work for the Ministry or to play Quidditch or to marry Ginny Weasley and I thought that I knew what I wanted, but—” He snorted. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.

“Pretty sure that Jacobi’s right that I’ve been trying to find surrogate parents this whole time. Never really had any, and now I’m supposed to be an adult without anyone telling me how that works.”

He wasn’t really surprised when Narcissa got up from the window seat and sat next to him on the couch. He _was_ surprised when she took one of his hands in her own and smiled sadly at him.

“I can see how that would be difficult. I won’t lie and say that I know how you were raised with your relatives. No one has told me and any account that has come out since the war ended seems to be unreliable at best. However, I know that you don’t have to have all of the answers right away. You’re only eighteen and will live for a hundred years more if you’re lucky.

“You’re moneyed, handsome, young, brave and smart. What you do know is up to you and you alone. Yes, Draco must assist you in finding a spouse, but that doesn’t have to be right this second now that you’ve agreed to allow him to do so. And nothing says that you have to marry right away either. You might enjoy a long engagement, go see the world, take up a hobby you’ve denied yourself since you were so busy before, or anything else you so choose.

“I know that you think that you absolutely must do everything with this debt of honour to get it out of the way. As much as you like to pretend that you are a man of mystery, I assure you, Harry, you are fairly simple to read from where I sit.”

While not expecting that speech from Narcissa Malfoy, of all people, what she said was true. He didn’t have to find a partner just then. He didn’t even have to get married if they managed to find someone who fit the conditions of the debt as soon as the person was found. He didn’t have to work. Between the comfortable savings his parents had left him and the Black family fortune and properties, Harry never had to do anything ever again that he didn’t want to do.

He was his own man, now that Voldemort was dead and his NEWTS were done.

“You know, no one’s ever said that to me. I just always assumed that I had to _be_ something. Even when I withdrew from the Wizarding World after all the trials, I…knew that others expected a bunch of crap from me that I didn’t want and wasn’t ready for. That’s why I hid in the first place.”

“That is an understandable sentiment, Harry. Your whole life before now has been about other people. Even your agreement to come stay here at the Manor had to do with others. And while Draco and I are grateful for your agreement and your company, I do believe it is time that you thought about doing something for yourself.” One of her small hands reached up to cup his cheek in an affectionate gesture that startled Harry for a moment before he smiled at her.

“Are you just saying this to get me to do what you want?”

“Harry, you are talking to a former Slytherin. Nothing we do is ever for one reason only.” She patted his hands before standing. He stood up with her, following the example that Draco had set since Harry’s arrival. “But does that negate the wisdom of my words, does it?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Good. I shall send my son to speak to you once he reappears. I believe it is time that you both discussed matters, no?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Harry said uncomfortably, just managing to keep from scratching the back of his head or scuffing his trainer on the carpet. No matter how much weird his life attracted, he didn’t know if he’d ever feel one hundred per cent at ease around Narcissa Malfoy, despite how nice she’d showed herself to truly be behind closed doors.

A voice in the back of his mind kept repeating that he was in the home were Dobby had been abused by Lucius Malfoy and that the regal woman he was watching leave the parlour had a hand in the death of his godfather—a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ron Weasley. And Harry knew that a part of him would’ve joined in with that internal shouting before the events of the night of the Final Battle. Now, though, things were different. He was fighting with Ron and there was a good chance that this was something that they couldn’t completely repair. He was actually living in Malfoy Manor with a family that had tried to kill him on more than one occasion.

And if that wasn’t strange enough, he was finding himself more and more attracted to a boy who he’d nearly killed when they were sixteen and had saved at least three times in the year just passed. And it was becoming increasingly obvious that they might even wind up joined to one another since everyone but Harry had some sort of insight into Malfoy’s desires.

It was no bloody wonder that Hermione was so worried about Harry’s sanity. None of it made any sense from outside perspective. Merlin, it barely made sense to _Harry_.

The sound of the door opening and closing gently caught Harry’s attention and he looked up, not at all surprised to find the Lord of the Manor standing in front of him. And he was beyond attractive in his grey silk shirt, fitted black slacks and matching robes. The desire that Harry’d been denying since he’d seen his former rival in the hospital nearly threatened to drown him and he had to swallow more than once before he could speak. “Hey.”

A pale eyebrow raised as Draco smiled softly. “Hello, Harry.”

Hearing his name said so gently, like a caress, was just what he needed to shake him out of the stupor. He frowned as he looked at the carpet. “I guess it’s time we had a talk.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Well, that hadn’t been exactly what Draco was expecting when his mother sent him into the parlour with all indications that Harry needed him. He was really hoping that he could skip all the unpleasant conversations for the rest of the day and go right to the snogging. Harry’s reddened, full lips were practically begging for a kiss in his opinion. However, he had resolved with himself earlier that he’d talk to Harry about the entire situation. It was the least that they could do to start the process of actually…getting to the fun parts of a relationship.

Without letting anything show on his face except mild curiosity, Draco sat down on the loveseat and waited for the other young man to join him. “I suppose it’s time that we discussed many things, yes. What did you have in mind in particular?”

Leaving it to Harry to start was probably for the best. If the Gryffindor was controlling the pace and topic, then he’d be less likely to run away or shut down. At least Draco hoped that that was the case. As it stood, it took him a while before he began.

“Well, there’s a plethora of topics we could go over, I guess, but I think for now we should probably talk about school,” Harry said quietly. The look on his face made it seem like this was the last thing he wanted to talk about but Draco was quiet as Harry took a deep breath and looked up at him with those bright green eyes. “You were a stuck up snob and an insufferable prat for years. And I don’t think I was much better.

“From the moment I met you before school actually started, I thought you were spoilt and inconsiderate. And pointy.”

Draco couldn’t help but huff under his breath. Leave it to the Gryffindor to not pull any punches. Even the comment about his features wasn’t entirely unexpected. “I remember seeing you in Madam Malkin’s shop that day,” Draco said as he thought back. “That was your birthday, wasn’t it?”

He was rewarded with a slight smile that faded quickly. “Yeah, the first one I’d ever really had that I could remember. My aunt and uncle…” Harry’s face grew hard as he looked at Draco directly, reminding him of other times they’d faced off over the years and a prickle of fear went down the blond’s spine. “My childhood sucked. I won’t go into it because it’s in the past now, but if we’re going to be…I dunno…I have to tell you some stuff. I want you to promise to listen to me and to not tell your mum or go running to the papers to talk about my shitty life before Hogwarts.”

“You have my word, Harry, that I won’t breathe a word of anything you tell me tonight to anyone,” Draco said earnestly, clamping suddenly sweaty hands on the edge of the loveseat. “I swear on my magic.”

The other man nodded and began speaking slowly, quietly. He spoke of how his mother’s sister had hated magic and the fact that Lily Evans seemed to have been stolen from the family by none other than Severus and the Wizarding World at large. How she and her repulsive husband had made his life hell; the cupboard under the stairs; his relationship with his cruel, overweight cousin; the fact that he hadn’t had friends until Hagrid had shown up on that nameless island in the middle of the North Sea; the first celebration of his actual birthday at eleven. Harry talked about his life and adventures until the Final Battle and Draco listened, his magic coiling tightly as he wondered how he could find out where these Dursleys lived and hating himself for his own behaviour in the grand scheme of the Saviour’s life.

Harry’s unwavering belief and trust in Weasley and Granger finally made more sense, as did his rejection of Draco. He couldn’t have imagined living through something like that. It…was just incomprehensible. The fact that Harry had lived and loved and survived despite Voldemort, his family, and the many dangers he’d been forced to face was a testament to his strength of character. It was a humbling and uncomfortable discussion for Draco, as it forced him to look at himself too closely.

“I had no idea,” Draco said when Harry was done.

“I know,” Harry replied, looking at him with a sort of peaceful expression on his face. “Only Ron and Hermione knew everything. Even Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys knew so much. I didn’t want anyone’s pity. I didn’t want to be the Boy Who Lived, either, but try telling you and Ron that when we were in school.”

“Severus and my father made it sound like you were pampered by your Muggle relatives and that you did everything you could to flaunt the rules. I…blindly followed everything they said about you.”

“And why wouldn’t you? Snape was your godfather and your father was your hero. I get it. Besides, I’d wounded your pride that time on the train and it only grew worse every time we were near each other.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh self-deprecatingly. “We were both little prats, weren’t we?”

“Yeah, but I guess Sixth year changed that for both of us. The war was real then. You had your task and I had to learn how to take down Voldemort. Nothing about this was perfect and I think the deck was stacked against us from the beginning, Draco.”

He couldn’t help but frown in thought at the strange phrase, but it didn’t take much to figure out what it meant. “I suppose you’re right. We had roles and duties to fulfil that we didn’t really pick out.”

“Yeah, well, the fact of it is that we fulfilled them a little too well sometimes.”

“Our friends certainly helped us in that regard.”

“Yeah…” Harry kicked his feet on the carpet before looking up at Draco. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking and the blond wouldn’t have even known where to begin if he’d tried. “I’m sorry about Crabbe. We’d’ve saved him if we could. As it was, the rest of us barely made it out of there.”

Draco frowned as he thought about Vincent’s death in the Room of Lost Things. It was really the first time he’d allowed himself to do so since Harry and his friends had saved him and Gregory from the Fiendfyre. “By then, I’m not sure that Crabbe and Goyle were my friends. I don’t know if we _were_ ever friends, not the same way you, Granger and Weasley were. Our fathers had being Death Eaters in common and we were expected to follow them exactly. And, well, we were under orders to capture you and take you to the Dark Lord. Vincent using Fiendfyre to try and kill us all wasn’t exactly on the agenda.”

“No, I thought not, but it helped me out in a way.”

“Glad to have been of service, then.” Draco smiled stiffly before he stood up and walked over to where Harry was sitting. He put out his hand for Harry to take or not, again, deciding that this was how he should have introduced himself so many years ago. “Hello. My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

He was rewarded with a wry and pleased smile from Harry as he stood and took the offered hand. “Hello, Malfoy. Name’s Harry Potter. Yes, _that_ Harry Potter. And no, I don’t do autographs.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at his companion and they both laughed.


End file.
